


Hawks and Eagles

by Arvalee Knight (AvaWhiteRaven), AvaWhiteRaven



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Reader Insert, Self Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 86,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaWhiteRaven/pseuds/Arvalee%20Knight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaWhiteRaven/pseuds/AvaWhiteRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were trained at a young age in the ways of the Assassins. However, all of your training had been done in secret without the knowledge of the Brotherhood. One of the Order, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, has discovered your existence and now you must take steps to decide where you want events to lead.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>The story starts off before the first game's events but leads into them.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hawk is Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> I'm already on chapter seven with this so I'll try to post as soon as I finish editing and rereading the ones I've written (and deciding if I want to change some events)

The twists of shadows and warm gleam of the sun caressed your skin, glinting and glimmering across bleached mudbrick rooftops. The dry winds flittered around you, pulling at your dark clothes and carrying up the chorus of the bustling crowds below. You watched their movements as they flowed through the city, across bridges and down alleyways, gathering in the dense bazaars as peddlers bartered off their goods.

This was your city, each of its citizens beneath your protective wing. You watched, a hawk hungry for its next meal, perched on the highest point in the district. This evening you were less of a hunter, the unrest quieter than usual, making you somewhat complacent.

You sat down on the tower's protruding beam, the large bird of prey perched behind you having grown used to your presence. You leaned forward, a bent knee pressed to your chest, the other leg dangling casually. You twirled an iridescent sea shell between your fingers, the play of purples and green swimming together.

The eagle had brought it back to its nest, leaving it there for you in exchange for scraps of meat, an easy meal. Whether the raptor truly understood the system was beyond you. It certainly seemed clever enough for it. On rare occasions, the eagle even sought you out, eager to please so long as it led to more food.

But your eyes were no longer upon the city. You stared off passed the horizon towards the thin streak of dark blue sea, a large body of water that you had only heard of but had never gotten close enough to touch. It was just beyond the city, perhaps a day's travel, and every now and then with the right breeze you could smell the twinge of salt.

There was a ruckus somewhere to your right, guards shouting out orders and the citizens screaming as they fled, the strange shell was stuffed into the your pocket for a later time. The eagle gave a screech, it's eyes catching something intriguing as well. It dove off, gliding along the caressed fingers of the wind towards its next meal. You thought to follow the bird, to hunt after your own prey for the evening. But then you saw him, the one to cause the disturbance, running across rooftops with agile ease. He skidded to a stop, finding that a number of guards were crawling onto the rooftops in front of him and thus cutting off his escape.

You thought to assist the stranger, throwing over your hood and pulling up your scarf around your mouth. But his attire caused hesitation. His clothing was similar, reflecting your darker version. For his white hooded robe, you were draped in black. The bright contrast of a red sash gripping his waist, paled your gray one. You too wore leather belts, holstering innumerable throwing blades, a short sword at your back, a long sword at your hip, and various pouches upon your waist.

These were the robes of the Assassins, an order you knew only by the tales spun by your mentor and adopted-father. In fact, you had seen him wear such similar attire when he journeyed from home. This man fleeing the guards had to be one of those infamous "heroes". He moved with speed and efficiency, eliminating every guard that dared to assault him, and each of his skills eased him closer to freedom.

An archer worked his way across rooftops and rickety planks, positioning himself to take out his enemy. It was lucky for the Assassin that you noticed the archer's advances, giving you enough time to grab your bow from its resting place inside the open nook of the bell tower.

You stood tall on your perch, steadied your breathing, and drew back the string of your composite bow. The wind was in your favor and the distance to your target was easily in range. Your arrow flew fast and was well placed, killing the guard and keeping your presence hidden. Your lips tugged smuggly into a grin, all too pleased with the silent kill.

The whole ordeal was over within minutes, the last guard falling at his feet, and his hidden blade slinking back into its sheath. His eyes lifted to the place the archer had been, hesitating there, and you knew suddenly that you hadn't been as stealthy as you thought. The Assassin accurately scanned his surroundings, seeking out whoever it was that helped him. Before you could slip away into the bell tower, his eyes found you and locked firmly into place. He was no doubt assessing you as much as you were assessing him.

You stepped back instinctively, almost certain that he'd chase you down, interrogate information from you. You weren't exactly an Assassin but you weren't exactly wearing common clothes either. But his head only gave a slight bow and then the robed stranger disappeared into the shadows once more.

His presence still lingered on your retinas, still burned in your mind's eye. You clenched the bow, felt its oiled smooth surface beneath your curled fingers. It was best to leave the area just in case the stranger decided he did after all want to know your identity.

You were calling it a day, the sun beginning her descent towards the horizon, flaring orange and pink behind her trail, casting amber hues across the pale stone buildings. You returned the bow to its hiding place, taking care to wrap it safely within a cloth before tucking it into the wooden chest. You casually leapt from the wooden beam, a practiced leap of faith, skillfully landing in a hush amongst the hay filled cart.

Your teacher, the man who adopted and raised you, had been the one to train you in the ways of the Assassins, declaring you a Warrior as you progressed in each rank. He hadn't been given permission and you weren't entirely sure if he asked in the first place. He had warned you though, that one day someone would enter the city and if they ever found you they might question you. He had never said the words "kill", not truly, but you imagined that your presence would not have been taken lightly. Perhaps even, your father would be punished for his disobedience.

You returned to the bustle of the Poor District, melting into the flow of traffic until you could slip down an alley. You scaled the walls, callous fingers taking in the smooth, dusty stonework. You threw back your hood and pushed down your scarf, relieved the moment your feet landed into the comforts of home, an abandoned and long forgotten safe house.

You dipped your hands into the cold water of the fountain, splashing it against your sweat drenched face and hair. You strolled through the lavish, sunlit living room and into the cool darkness of the den. You had made the den your own, the whole entire safe house really, its shelves cluttered with worn books and collected baubles, scattered bits of useless but pretty things. Junk, your father had called it.

"Master Saif," you greeted, your eyes upon the sea shell that you tugged from your robes. But you next words, although eager, did not leave your tongue.

Saif wore his Assassin's robes, his back to you as he fervently gathered up parchment and various other items. "Ah, there you are, my child." He hadn't bothered to glance you over as he turned and walked past. "I have business to attend to in Masyaf."

Of course he did, you thought, pushing the sea shell onto one of the shelves. You tried to not groan or to roll your eyes and it was damn near impossible. "You only just returned a week ago."

He stopped packing away his items, no doubt readying himself to spit out another of his practiced lectures.

You beat him to it, snappy and quick, "No, don't invite me along. I must stay here and protect the citizens of our fine city. Who else but I could handle such an important task, Master Saif?" You pursed your lips to suppress the threatening snark of a smirk.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his aging fingers, a grumble of raspy words passing his throat. "Do not give me reason to worry while I am away."

Seriousness suddenly gripped you, your tone carrying it well, "There was an Assassin on the streets today."

Master Saif bobbed his head, slinging his stuffed bag over his shoulder. "They will pass through here, that was always unavoidable. Simply stay out of sight and out of their way, child."

Your mouth opened, nearly blurting out the truth that the Assassin had already seen you and you had, inconveniently, alerted him to your existence. But you gave a humble nod of your head, promising, "I will do as you ask, Master."

He placed a hand into your arm, gripping it firmly. "I shall return weeks from now, perhaps a month. Remember your training." His hand fell away, drawing your eyes towards the longsword that he held in the other. He lifted it towards you, face stern and unreadable as you analyzed it for answers. "Take my sword. You have earned it, Veteran."

You forced your smile away, forced yourself not to laugh or make any show of delight. You let him place the sword into your hands, clutched onto it as he turned and silently left. Once you were certain he was gone, your lips brimmed with joy and a laugh bubbled free. His sword, ornate and intricately designed, sharper than your own and somehow even lighter.

You pressed it to your chest, almost sighed, brows bending beneath a heavy weight of sorrow. Giving away his sword meant various things, a sign of his trust as he raised you to another rank but also a sign of abandonment as you became more autonomous without his guidance.

He would be away for a month, leaving you to the lonely task of being an outcast guardian, hidden away from the rest of society. But there had been the other Assassin, a stranger stalking through the streets of your city. His purpose was similar to your own and you were curious as to what events led him to this place of all places.

You would seek him out, observe his actions from a distance, finally test your skills against someone superior than your usual targets.

You pulled the blade slowly from its sheath, testing its weight in your hands. For now, you would train with the new blade, practice your skills upon it.


	2. The Eagle's Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little meet and greet, anyone? Otherwise, not much happening... Yet

You were up early the next day, enjoying the spices from your morning cup of hot tea and the fragrant smell of burning sandalwood incense. You fed the stray feline that cascaded down the walls of the parlor, mewing for its morning meal, a routine the both of you were accustomed to.

You checked your gear as well as the belt of your new sword, preparing yourself for the long and difficult task of hunting down your Assassin. You raked back your hair and threw up your hood. You left the feasting cat for the early morning crowds, the bazaars already filling with the shouts of prices, the smells of fresh caught fish infused with the nearby spices and fruit, the sounds of distant bells ringing throughout the city signaling the dawn.

The sun made her climb over the horizon, bringing with her the light of day and a subtle warmth to chase off the night chill. You sought out the highest point in the Poor District that conveniently overlooked the marketplace. You listened to the crowds for any criers who might shout fragments of important news, something that might lead you closer to your target. Unfortunately for you, they only spouted their typical information, the whole of the city somewhat uneventful.

You focused your senses, blocking out unnecessary noises and distractions. Eagle Vision, your master had called it, the greatest gift of any Assassin. In the center of the courtyard, next to the large faded gray fountain stood an informant, clothed in white and red. It was obvious he was waiting, his eyes glancing about the passing crowds in search of a particular person, his hands clutching tight onto the bag at his side.

You scanned the area, eager to seek out the bright white robes of the Assassin. He approached, blending well with the people around him, not at all arousing the suspicions of the guards. His movements were an enjoyable sight, each step as powerful and determined as the next. He was unafraid, unfaltered by the world around him.

You rolled your shoulders and flexed the muscles of your back. You pulled the scarf up over your mouth and steadied your breathing in preparation. You leapt from your perch, arms wide and landed into the hay cart below. You slipped out of there, brushed off the straw, then hurried through the twists of a back alley to climb the walls of the building near their conversation. You crouched down, your ears straining to hear any amount of detail, zoning out any other sounds.

"This is all there was?" He did not appear pleased, and as you peeked a glance at them, he was riffling through a cluttered mess of old parchment.

He sounded younger, his tone nervous, "Yes, Altaïr, those were the only documents I could find."

One of the parchments caught his eye. He looked it over carefully while handing back the rest. He lowered the document before nudging his informant with a flick of his chin. "Come with me."

You tensed, each muscle tightening as you readied yourself to quietly tail them. They walked into the flow of traffic as you followed across rooftops and the rickety wooden planks that served as makeshift walkways for guards on patrol.

"This map of the city will serve our purpose," he told the informant, blunt and cold, his tone hardly wavering from bitter. "I shall have the Bureau located soon enough. Is there any other news that you bring me?"

The Bureau, you worried. Your home.

There was the sound of a harsh sigh as you crept along the edges of a building overhead. "I have tried to bribe our typical sources but they refuse our advances. It is very odd but I think someone else has their favor."

You grinned, knowing well who it was.

Altaïr released an exasperated huff, sounding more irritated with the informant than the news. "Then I will have to deal with that matter personally."

You rounded a chimney, leapt across another building, then crouched down onto the corner, finding that they had both halted to face each other.

He had already folded the parchment and stuffed it safely into his robes. "If I am to reestablish a base here, I am going to need more resources. Send word to Masyaf."

He gave a humble bow of his head. "Yes, of course, Altaïr."

You watched as the informant and the Assassin turned from each other, separating to go their own ways with their own tasks. The informant pushed his way into the crowds, not at all as skillful as the Assassin would have been.

You dropped your eyes to seek out the Assassin, this Altaïr, but he had vanished, the last you had seen of him was a vague movement in your peripheral. You checked the foot of the building you were on, all along the road he might have taken. You stood up and spun on your heel, thinking to check higher ground, but there he was.

Altaïr stood firm in the middle of the flat rooftop, hood drawn to obscure most of his features but the thin press of his mouth was obvious. He carried himself well, his shoulders pressed down and his head held high. His words were harsh, a bitter staccato as he started to step towards you, "Who are you? Why have you been following me?"

You shuffled backwards, feeling the hard edge of the building against the sole of your boots. Your heart raced, having never been caught so easily. You supposed it was to be expected. He was an Assassin after all. An Assassin who might be an enemy. And you had little choice but to face him or run.

His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. "I am not a patient man. Who are you?"

You remembered catching sight of a hay cart below, deeming it a worthy escape. You fell backwards, overlooking the swooning of your heart and trusting fully in your abilities. The brush of hay came faster than expected, knocking the wind from your lungs. But you leapt out of the cart and ran, ignoring the abrupt cries of passersby.

You followed the streets you had memorized as a child, the ones you had grown up training on, half of the time believing it was all a game your teacher had created. But a child is eager for games, and eager to please. You hurried through market bazaars, around the sharp turn of a smithy, beneath the billowing slaps of arched tapestries.

You ducked inside of an empty hovel, rushed through the rooms into the back, and rolled out of the window into a narrow alleyway. You hid behind the first door you came across, closing it shut behind you. Your back pressed firmly against it, chest heaving to get down the next breath of air. The Assassin had been lost in the chaos, that much you were certain. Perhaps he hadn't even bothered to chase after you.

You went over the events in your head, hardly understanding why you ran from him. He had questions and so did you. But you feared that answering those questions might have caused problems if not for yourself but for Master Saif.

You regretted leaving the area, leaving behind an Assassin that might provide some form of contact with the outside world, with other Assassins, with other people like yourself. If by chance you saw Altaïr again, you would perhaps speak with him. There had to be some way to both keep your identity hidden and make an acquaintance of him.

You pushed off of the door and secured your hood, scarf, and gear. You headed back onto the streets with calm steps. A quick glance around proved that no one had followed you. You joined the flow of traffic, following it along the cluttered alley bazaars and away from the clingy merchants.

You headed towards the poorest side of the district. Beggars were unseen and often forgotten, making them perfect at overhearing information. You kneeled down, letting a few coins spill before the haggard woman. "There is another in the city seeking information," you muttered it, low enough for her ears only.

She scooped up the metal, desperate to cling it to her chest, to hold onto a tangible possession. "That's right. He asked a few of us to be his ears, waved a few pretty coins." She gave a shake of her head, her opal eyes lowering. "None of us promised him anything."

"Did he ask for anything else?"

"A name," she muttered it, almost fearful that someone might overhear, "Tahir."

You recognized the name, muttering mostly to yourself, "The merchant in the Rich District..."

She glanced about, giving a firm nod. "I told him nothing though, none of what I know about him. That merchant's been working with new people in the city, that much I know, smuggling things for them."

"Who are these new people?"

"Not sure. They're influential, powerful." She pulled her lips tight, another glance down the alley before whispering, "They sometimes come around here looking for people to work for them. Anyone who goes with them..." She finally turned her gaze on you, something fearful in her eyes. "Well, we haven't seen any of them since. Maybe they made some coin. Maybe not."

"Many thanks. Peace be upon you." You slipped a few more coins into her hands, remembering that she had a child to take care of. You couldn't rescue them all but you had managed to find work outside of the city for a few of them. You had been a naive child then, worried about their safety, and with the guidance of your father, you helped them. It wasn't easy for them outside the city. It was hard work, tedious labor, but it was something to put food in their bellies. But even with work, they're lives were not glorious.

You walked through the dark shade of the alley and out onto the bustle of the streets again. It was a little past noon as you arrived at the Rich District. You made your way to the grand mosque at its center, climbing its massive structures, and along the towering minaret. You hauled yourself up onto the balcony, dust and dirt gritty beneath your palms, your feet landing with a soft thud. You paused in your movements, lifting your sights until they found his red sash and white robes.

"Safety and peace, brother." Altaïr lifted open palms, swaying his weight slightly between his feet.

It was hard to stop your smile and thankfully your scarf hid as much. He thought you were one of his Assassin brothers, one of his own. And this you could somewhat handle. You tried to speak in a believably deeper voice, "Upon you as well." Here was your chance to keep your identity while also getting to socialize.

"Why did you follow me?" He dropped his hands, his tone no less pleased than it was earlier. "Do not flee again. I seek only answers."

You looked him over, admiring his robes and weapons, admiring the muscle and power that hid beneath the layers of cloth. "I wanted to see your skills for myself."

The corner of his mouth curled slightly, a half-smile. "Ah, then you know of me. My fame has reached even here."

You pulled your lips between your teeth, his arrogance laughable. You had not, in fact, heard of him. Your father spoke rarely of other Assassins. "Why are you here, Altaïr?"

He held his head higher. "I came here to speak."

It was difficult to keep up the charade, to not laugh at the situation or at deceiving him, or revel at the idea of crushing the cockiness of his tone. "Then speak."

He turned slightly, palms pressed into the bannister. "You are the one with eyes and ears everywhere, are you not? Your coin is filling the people's pockets." When you made no effort to reply, because you knew for certain that you would chuckle, he grumbled, "I need information on Tahir. Will you waste my time or share what you know?"

You tucked your hands behind your back, casting your eyes sideways at the prestigious Rich District at the base of the tower, the lively bright colors of orange and yellow, the soft purples. "For what reason do you hunt, Tahir? Who is he to you?"

"A Templar," he stated matter of factly.

Templar, you thought, never having met one for yourself. Your father told only stories of them. Without giving away your ignorance you stated simply, "I know only that he is a smuggler." You walked away from him, along the circular balcony until you could see plainly the hay cart below. "The rest you will have to learn on your own."

He followed at a distance, his words somehow harsher than ever, "Who are you? You have helped me but I was not aware of any other Assassins in this city but myself."

This time you couldn't help yourself. You let a breathy chuckle escape and fearing that you could no longer speak in a deeper voice, you climbed onto the balcony railing and readied for the jump.

"You are not an Assassin..." He half-asked, half-stated the words as the realization came mid-sentence, his thoughts processing the events between the two of you.

You fell forward, the fall as effortless and easy as breathing, wind caressing your arms fluidly like water. Altaïr did not follow your leap even though he could have easily, just as before. Once again you walked the maze back towards home, a smile still stretched across your lips.

His arrogance was intriguing, surprisingly refreshing, and you were very tempted to pester the youth. Or perhaps, you simply enjoyed lying to him, deceiving him. This game was better than any assassination, far more fun for sure.


	3. A Hawk's Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr finds himself in need of assistance and you find yourself obliging, which might make things a little tense.

It was late evening when the city of al-Rahman was bristled by chaos. The guards were on high alert, the bells in every tower resounding throughout every corner, the streets filled with the shouts of the people. You climbed onto the rooftop of the safe house, crouching forward until you reached the edge. The guards were in the distance, someone having caught their rage.

Then your eyes caught sight of him, standing against a wall in some alleyway's shadow, his eyes locked on yours. Altaïr gripped his leg, dark red seeping between his fingers, staining the white of his vestments. You scanned the area around him, your abilities as an Assassin alerting you to the encroaching guards. You would have to draw their ire away from both the safe house and Altaïr.

You ducked back into the comforts of home and grabbed the composite bow from its case. You grabbed no less than ten arrows and made your way back to the rooftop. It would be unwise to kill them so close to home, unwise to let yourself be seen by them, but there was little choice now.

You leapt across the rooftops towards the clamouring of guard armor, finding that there were only six of them on Altaïr's trail. There were more, somewhere else in the district but these were the only ones that mattered for now. Once they were out of the way, you could safely harbor Altaïr away in the Bureau.

You stood tall on the corner of the building, breathed evenly before letting loose the first arrow which cleanly pierced through his skull. The guards froze briefly before they scattered but not before your next arrow took down the second guard. One of them managed to spot your presence and he alarmed the others moments before you released your third arrow, aiming too low and piercing only his abdomen. Your second arrow hit him before he hit the ground, ending his suffering.

The remaining three rushed at the foot of the building, ducking beneath the scaffolding nearby. You patiently waited, knowing that one of them would grow bold enough to make an attempt to kill you. An archer was amongst them and he was the first to be bold, leaning out to take aim. You were faster, drawing back your bowstring and letting it slap freely. The arrow hit his heart and made desperate men of the last two. They both leapt out and made attempts to climb up the building towards your position. You managed to take out one with an arrow, the other having climbed onto the building with you.

His short sword was drawn but he didn't get the chance to use it. You grabbed his wrist, pulling him fastly forward, grappling his neck, and sinking the hidden blade securely into his spine. His death was quiet and clean, and you gently laid him at your feet.

You hesitated, examining the orderly destruction, before leaping down to find Altaïr. He had moved from his spot in the alley, shuffling his way down the dusty street towards the safe house, blood smearing across the stone walls he leaned against.

You jerked his arm around your neck, bow clenched awkwardly in your hand, and hauled him down the road. You almost muttered your irritations but quickly swallowed them. He thought you were a brother, a fellow Assassin of some kind. He was about to be rudely awakened to the truth. But for now, you had to get him safely inside. You had to get yourself inside and your home off of the guard's radar.

Altaïr grunted, shoving you away once you reached the alley next to the Bureau. He bared his clenched teeth, forcing himself to painfully scale the wall, his bleeding leg slipping out beneath him a few times, his arms straining to make up the difference.

Stubborn, you shook your head.

You easily jumped along the cracks and crevices, reaching the top before him. You turned around and pulled the disgruntled Assassin by the hand and steadied him back on his feet, despite his under-breathed griping.

"I did not need your help," Altaïr excused as he limped towards the opening in the roof.

You huffed, hardly surprised at his arrogance, and too bitter to hide your identity from him any longer. You jerked down your scarf, spitting, "You nearly led an entire watch of guardsmen to my doorstep and you dare pretend you had everything under control."

Altaïr froze at your unfamiliar voice. He slowly turned towards you, his head craning to peek beneath the shadow of your hood. "You are..."

"A woman. And no, I'm not part of your Assassin brotherhood." You rushed forward, passing him to step down into the confines of home, hurrying into the soft light of the den. "Since you're so qualified, heal you own damn wounds."

Altaïr growled, voice deeper with resentment, "Then I shall!"

You set down your bow, rolled your eyes at the sound of his strangled grunting as he leapt down into the Bureau, the scattered sounds of stumbling and falling. You turned sharply on your heel and returned to the parlor, the evening sun casting hues of amber across the room, and across the white robes of Altaïr who sat slumped against the wall.

He lowered his head, hood hiding away most of his expression. "Go away. You have made your opinion known."

You rubbed your fingers fiercely against your eyelids after seeing the vast amount of blood that seeped from his wound. "You just don't know when to give up. Maybe if you were polite..." You climbed up the wall and pulled the wooden gate over the top of the roof. Any guards that passed by would deem it a simple trellis, not the secret door of an Assassin's Bureau.

"Polite," he spat. "Who are you to request such a thing?"

You bit your tongue, landing onto the ground beside him. You leaned down and crooked his arm around your neck. You pried his weight off the floor, his good leg attempting to assist in the movement, his back scraping up across the wall.

He groaned at the first step but forced down any other sounds, his pride no doubt demanding it. "Your help is not necessary."

"Just... stop talking." You bit your inner cheek, his arrogance no longer as endearing as it had been before. Perhaps it was his foolishness in leading the guards to you, or perhaps it was because he forced your hand in their death. It wasn't that you hadn't killed before. You simply took no pleasure in having to kill unless it was necessary. Had he been skilled enough, he wouldn't have drawn their ire to your home.

It was a long shuffle through the den and behind the counter. Your small room lied behind the hanging curtain, your bed a thin mat scattered with various pillows. Dragging him there had been the easy part. Setting him down onto the bed caused the both of you to stumble, his weight falling against you.

He seethed, the wound in his leg hitting the ground fiercely.

You roughly got up onto your knees. "I will grab some herbs..."

Altaïr rolled onto his back, hand falling to clutch the glistening of deep, dark red.

You hurried through the den, seeking out the herbs your teacher had once used on your last severe scrape. Which, unlucky for you, was nearly a year ago. Those could be long gone, if useable at all. You finally gave up your search, slamming shut one of the drawers with a huff.

You grabbed the cloth you'd found, deeming it worthy enough to serve as a bandage, and returned to Atlaïr who was surprisingly quiet. "I have no medicine. Only this." You kneeled down beside him and began to unravel the thick cloth.

"That is not enough," he spat, his head rolling back, another repressed grimace.

"And what do you suggest Oh Great Wise One?"

Altaïr lifted up onto an elbow, his hate filled gaze inches from yours. "I have an informant nearby. I trust him far more than I trust you."

You held your ground, words just as bitter as his, "Then perhaps you should have staggered your way to his home instead of mine."

His mouth, hard pressed and bitter, spoke more volumes than his words. "This is the Assassin's Bureau. How was I to know it was stolen into a common thief's hovel."

"Thief?" you growled. "Your Assassins have not stepped foot in this city for nearly three decades. I am the one who has watched over this city, over its people, while your pathetic little Order cowered away in some fort."

"You know nothing of them."

"You know nothing of me and yet you are so quick to judge." You bit back your anger, finally pulling away from the heated argument. "Tell me where your informant is so I can be rid of you."

Altaïr fell back against the bed, not bothering to even look at you. "He lives outside the city."

You huffed a resentful laugh, rolling your eyes towards the ceiling. "You want me to wander around outside the city looking for a house that I may or may not find." You threw your hands in the air, tossing the roll of cloth into his chest. "You want your informant so badly, find him yourself."

"Hold a moment," he snarled but there was an obvious effort to keep his voice calm. "Wrap my wound. I will leave in the morning."

You didn't have to help the man. It was obvious he didn't exactly want to stoop so low as to accept your help, either. A common thief, he had called you. But you pushed away your hatred and focused on the task. You were better than that, you were kinder than that. "I'm going to have to remove your pants."

His shoulders tensed, his fingers firm against the blood pooling into his robes.

"Don't worry, I'll be sure not to stare." You leaned forward and tugged at the large leather belt, unstrapping the throwing knives and pouches before untying the bright red sash. You piled his gear against the wall behind you then went to work unlacing his breeches, a thick and coarse material similar to your own, perfect for scaling walls and scuffing around during fights.

Altaïr shoved your hands away, smearing his blood across your skin. "I can handle that myself."

You held your tongue and lifted your hands away. "Oh, of course you can, Altaïr. Just like you handled yourself so well that you managed to get such a small and minor wound."

He hissed, "Do not mock me." His hands struggled to push down the rest of his pants, making it to the large gash in his thigh before groaning through grinding teeth.

You helped him, despite his protests. Your fingers curled around the cloth below his knees, yanking them down until finally the cloth scraped past the raw wound leaving the Assassin completely naked and exposed. You kept yourself from looking at anything but Altaïr's bloodied wound, too nervous to glance anywhere else. "I will fetch some water."

You snagged a small container from the counter in the den and moved towards the stone fountains in the parlor. You pushed your hair out of your face, repositioning it firmly with under your hood, sweat beading across your scalp. You splashed some of the water on your face before filling the jar and returning to the bedroom.

Altaïr was breathing hard, chest heaving to keep down any spouts of agonized moaning. He no longer gripped the wound, his hands lying lifelessly next to him, the last of his energy expended. It worried you that he might not heal as quickly as he so confidently thought.

You kneeled down and slowly poured the fresh liquid onto the open flesh, ignoring his suppressed hissing. Most of the blood was washed away, some still staining the surrounding skin. But at least now you had a clearer picture. It was deep, a blade wound that sliced diagonally across his thigh. Altaïr made no protests as you bent his knee. You started bandaging the wound, tight enough to slow the bleeding but loose enough to not cut off circulation.

You told him, voice kinder and softer than before, "I will have your robes cleaned."

He only glanced at you as a reply, averting his attentions elsewhere.

You slipped off his wrist guards, hidden blade, pulled his tunic up over his head, and then his shirt. No longer shadowed by his hood, you briefly looked over Altaïr's features, admiring the honeyed amber of his eyes and the dark brown twists of his short hair. His dark skin glistened with sweat, from either the heat or the foreshadowing of a vicious fever.

From the corner of the room you pulled out one of your blankets and respectfully laid it upon him, knowing that being completely naked must have felt infuriating. Then, after dipping a cloth into the remaining water, you gently wiped his face clean of the sweat and grime.

You got to your feet, pleased with your work, and left the room. Altaïr made no efforts to say any thanks, not that you expected him to. In fact, you weren't entirely sure why you were so compelled to help the Assassin. Helping him put yourself in danger, put your father in danger. He knew where you lived now and it was their Assassin's Bureau, a place that he no doubt wanted to reclaim for his order.

You simply couldn't abandon him, leave him for dead, no matter how much easier it would be. You were not trained to take the easy road. You were trained to be patient, to be a hunter, and to be honorable. Perhaps that is what drove you to keep him alive. It was the right thing to do even if he was an ass about it.

 


	4. The Nobility of a Hawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr suffers through the beginning stages of a fever and you've taken it upon yourself to look after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter might be a little gruesome for some  
> There's also a _"nice"_ little dose of angst/anxiety

You slept poorly, your hair a disheveled mess and even with your hood down, the Bureau felt like a thousand suns. It wasn't just the heat that kept you from sleeping. You wondered whether or not Altaïr was doing well and you were too timid to check on him.

However, morning confirmed your worst fears. Altaïr was suffering through the beginnings of a harsh fever. He still slept when you checked on him, gripped by the thralls of a nightmare. His entire body trembled beneath the thick blanket. His skin was coated in sweat, his hair drenched, and he muttered words too inaudible to understand.

You lifted the cover off of his leg and found his bandages reddened with blood. You placed a hand against his fiery forehead and another at the languid pulse in his throat. Your voice cracked, worry strangling your tone, "Altaïr?"

He groaned, eyes clenching tight and brows diving down together. His fingers dug into the blanket, grasping onto it weakly.

You would have to find his informant, to find the man that could treat his wounds far better than you ever could. But he lived somewhere outside of the city, amongst innumerable houses and rolling hills. It could take you the entire day to find him, even if you could remember vaguely what the man had looked like.

You stated more firmly, "Altaïr."

He turned his head away but finally his eyes slitted open, his vision bobbing across the room as if he couldn't quite focus on any one thing.

You leaned closer to him, a hand against his cheek so that he might look at you. "Altaïr, where is your informant?"

He breathed harshly, each breath staggered and unsteady as the next. "He was supposed to meet me at..." His gaze rolled away, thoughts dizzying. "Who are you? Where..."

You gently grabbed the damp cloth, patting it along his skin, pushing back his hair. You muttered to him your name, reminding him where he was and that he was safe. But whether or not he heard those words you were uncertain. His breathing began to increase and his brows began to bend beneath another wave of pain.

"My leg," he whimpered it, the headstrong Assassin reduced into a small child.

"Sh. It's alright." You turned his head, leaning forward until his eyes locked with yours. "Altaïr, listen to me."

He rolled his eyes across your face, taking in each of your features for the first time without your cowl to obscure his sights. "You are... beautiful..." His head rolled to the side, eyes slipping shut again.

You slid an arm beneath his head, supporting it so that you might get his attention once more. "Focus. Where is your informant supposed to meet you?"

He moaned, absentmindedly. "The market, near the gates."

You slowly went to stand but his shaky hand reached out and you took it.

"Do not leave me," he whispered it, his voice small and feeble.

You closed your eyes, taking down a deep breath to steady your rattled nerves. "Sleep, Altaïr. I will stay."

His eyes rolled closed, his hand falling lifelessly. If he didn't receive help soon...

You waited moments longer, taking in the dark stubble around his mouth, the thickness of his lips and the curvature of the scar that trailed through them. He muttered whispers, names you hardly recognized, and a few stuttered words from the Creed.

You slowly pulled your arm from beneath his head, replacing a pillow in your stead. Altaïr moaned through his bouts of heavy breathing and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back any desire that lingered in you to stay with him.

He needed help and you had to go get it for him.

You stood up and hurried out of the room, knowing that time was too precious. Outside of the den was the late morning light, the sun already making her climb to her highest peak. The city was loud, somehow louder than usual. You worried that the guards were on high alert, some poor citizen having caught their attentions, but there were no alarms only a high number of scattered patrols.

As you walked along the crowded streets to the market, you found the guards were littered across every rooftop and around every corner. Even the gates leading outside the city had doubled the guards posted out front. They were searching for someone. Surely not Altaïr? They would have given up on him long ago. But then you saw the informant across the way, speaking casually with the captain of the guard, Fayez.

You walked with the crowd, hood foolishly down, following the flow of traffic until you could sit leisurely on a bench nearby. Thankfully, the informant was looking for a white robed Assassin and not your black ones. With your hood down, you might even be able to deceive them with your womanly innocence. Men were always happy to believe that women were incapable of being anything other than sweet and beautiful.

"You made that same statement an hour ago." The guard captain sounded angry, bitter as he spat each word. "If this is in any way a hoax--"

"It isn't." The informant leaned forward, words softer, "He was supposed to meet me early morning, like I said." He threw his hands about, motioning to the rooftops."You likely spooked him away with all of your guards. He is an Assassin, not a brainless thug."

Altaïr, you wondered. Had his informant betrayed him? But why? What did he have to gain? Did the Templars bribe him or had the Assassins displeased him?

The captain scoffed, shifting his weight almost as if he were getting ready to swing a hard punch. "Yes, an Assassin. I need every guard on this man. For all I know, you're making an attempt on my life."

"He will come," his words were beginning to crack, fear catching them in his throat.

"He better."

You stood up and assimilated back into the bustle of the market, working your way through alleys towards the safe house. You mulled over their conversation. If his informant was indeed a traitor, then Altaïr's injury was not so innocently inflicted. It would explain how a trained Assassin had been caught off guard and severely wounded.

You entered into the sunlit parlor, snagging a pitcher of water before seeking out Altaïr. He had managed to slip off of the mat, lying sprawled out across the floor, pillows awkwardly stuffed beneath his legs and shoulders. The blanket you had laid across him was thankfully tangled around his hips.

You set down the cold clay of the pitcher, turning your hands instead to the fiery heat of Altaïr's skin. He was heavier than he looked, all of your strength struggling to push him back onto the plushness of the bed. He didn't even bother to grumble, the fever having dulled his senses. You set a pillow beneath his head, a few muttered words falling across his lips, eyes darting beneath their lids.

You tugged the thick cover, straightening it back out across his body. You brushed back the soaked strands of his hair, stroking fingers across his crown and over his ears.

"Altaïr." You tried to lift his head, to bring his lips to the small pot for a much needed drink. "You need water, Altaïr." But the angle was awkward and you weren't strong enough to hoist him up long enough to get water passed his lips. You set it down near the bed before working your way behind him, pushing his upper torso off the ground. His weight fell awkwardly against your chest and lap, pinning your back against the wall.

"Drink some water." You pressed the cup to his mouth, a caress of fingers across his cheek. "Please, you need to drink.

His eyes managed to open, his head swaying ever so slightly as he looked about the room. You took the opportunity to help him drink a few sleepy swallows before he slid his eyes closed once more.

You spent most of your energy getting there that squirming out from underneath Altaïr was impossible. You managed to ease his head into your lap but you were still sitting against the wall. You dipped a cloth into the cold water of the pitcher and cleaned away the sweat from his face. Then, just like your own father had done for you, you rolled up the cool cloth and laid it against his forehead.

Altaïr moaned, your name muttered on the tip of his tongue, and turned his head towards the warmth of your stomach. He breathed deep, finally driving away the last of his shivers. Perhaps the coldness of the water helped.

There was nothing more you could offer him. You had no knowledge of medicine and his only ally was likely a traitor. For now, you would have to wait out his fever and rely on instincts alone. All you could provide was your presence and anything else Altaïr might require other than water.

Food. Somehow you would have to get him something to eat. Something easy for him to swallow. Broth, most likely. You could make a run to the market, buy some sort of bony meat and cook the juices from it.

You rested a moment longer, your eyes shutting for a quick nap. And then, as gently as you could possibly manage, you scooted out from underneath Altaïr and eased his head back down onto the cluttered pillows. You hurried to the markets, the evening sun creeping downwards from the sky and taking with her last of the day's light. Finally, you found what you were looking for, a small stall near the gate with cackling chickens.

"I need meat for a stew." You reached into your pocket, taking a few coins and pressing them onto the wooden counter.

"What kind are we talking about, darling? I sell an assortment of meats."

"A hen." You eyed the bird wearily. If you bought the chicken itself, you'd have to spend all night plucking feathers and then boiling the juices from it. "Do you have any already... cooked?"

He snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "I sell meat, sweetheart. I don't cook." He leaned his arms into the counter with a nod of his head, "But I know a couple who sells there cooked meals, up over near the gardens."

"Thank you. Keep it." You patted the coins before jetting off down the streets towards the Middle District's gardens. There was an hour, at most, of sunlight left. You trampled down alleys and pushed your way through crowds, hardly caring about raising the suspicions of the guards. You were too quick for their analysis, anyway, moving far from sight before they processed who you were.

By the time you arrived at the pavilion surrounding the gardens, it was dusk and the streets were lit only by the flames of lamps and lanterns. Thankfully, the food was still being sold to the remaining customers. You took down a breath, steadying your nerves and your voice. You approached the couple working at the bazaar. "Do you have any broth or stew... Maybe some soup?"

She eyed you for a moment before finally smiling. "We have some soup, freshly made in fact. It's a chicken based broth. Would you like a bowl of it?"

You tried to glance behind her, towards the steaming food. "How much for a large pot?"

Her brows jolted. She looked to her husband who was also taking notice of the conversation. "I suppose, yes."

You reached into your robes and slid coins towards her, many more than she would have asked for. "Whatever pot you can give me."

"To take with you?" She spun around, searching through her small makeshift kitchen. Her husband joined her after glancing at the pile of coins. He found a clay pot and she helped pour some of the soup into it. He placed it onto the wooden counter and you took the weighty pot with a meager thanks. It wasn't heavy, per se. But carrying it through two districts, the soup began to wear on your arms and fingers.

When you reached the Assassin's Bureau it finally dawned upon you that... You had to hoist the pot up onto the roof somehow. It was already dark, the brutal chill of the night sinking its way through your thin layers of cloth. You heaved the pot with you down alleys until finally reaching a convenient stack of crates. You climbed up them awkwardly and painfully slow. You walked across rooftops and around small family gardens, across shaky planks of wood until you reached home.

You set the pot down and caught your breath, flexing the muscles of your arms and the joints of your achy fingers. With a roll of your shoulders, you picked up the pot and slid off of the edge of the roof until you landed firmly into the living room. It was freezing inside of the house, the night taking away what the sun had brought, and even the hot soup had lost its warmth during your trek.

You placed the pot next to Altaïr's bed then grabbed a cup and plate from the den. You used the plate to hold back any of the vegetables and meat, letting the broth alone pour into the cup.

You heard your name whispered, a raspy and hoarse sound. Altaïr looked at you with lidded eyes, his head rolled lazily to the side. "That is your name... is it not?"

You set the pot down and moved closer to Altaïr, the cup of broth clenched in your grasp. "You remember." You felt his forehead once more, finding him still warm but without the sweat to drench his skin.

"Vaguely..."

"Here. Drink this broth. It'll give you some strength." You helped to lift his head upwards, bringing the earthen mug to his mouth.

He swallowed it weakly, lips quivering around the rim. He grimaced, grumbling childishly, "It is cold."

"You had a fever," you reasoned, rolling your eyes away. You slid your hand from beneath his head, ensuring he was resting comfortably.

"A fever..." He forced himself into a sitting position, head rolling forward into his hand.

"Careful. Take it easy, Altaïr." You set down the cup, hurrying to help support him before he stumbled sideways.

He groaned, his weight leaning into your arms. "My leg hurts..." Altaïr threw back the blanket over his lap, revealing his thigh and every bit of naked flesh, your eyes catching sight of his manhood. "I am... bleeding."

You snapped the blanket from his hand, covering his lap and other things. "Let's keep that blanket there, alright." Your face burned from the rush of blood, suddenly realizing how naked Altaïr was, how close he was against you.

"Why?" He tucked his head beneath your chin, his soft breath tickling, his voice fading, "Oh... I will get cold."

You drew in your bottom lip, certain that the fever was inebriating him. "Right. Cold."

"I think..." All of his weight began to fall into you, giving you seconds to catch him before he hit the floor. "I'm going to faint..."

"You must have sat up too quickly."

His arms grappled around you and before you could counter his weight he was knocking you into the floor. "I'm so... tired." He pressed his forehead against your collarbone, all of his weight pressed on top of you.

Your eyes widened as you threw the blanket over his completely bare backside, finding that you could only cover some of his exposed skin, the blanket having bunched between the two of you. You rolled your eyes upward, trying not to glance at all of the taut muscle along his back and buttox.

You sighed, "Get some rest, Altaïr."

He began shivering again, his bony fingers digging at your clothes. He released a heavy sigh when you raked fingers through the soft, short curls of his hair, a poor attempt to lull him into sleep. "That is wonderful..." He moaned, a sound between pleasure and a wave of agony.

"Rest. Your fever will get worse."

"Fever..." His mind was trailing away from him again, confusion set into his thoughts. "I have training today..." He tried to lift his body up off of the ground, his arms quaking as he did. You scurried forward to help support him but he tumbled over onto his side, grunting his curses. "W-where is... the Master? Is he in his tower again?" Altaïr tried to sit up but you forced him back down.

"Stop, Altaïr. You're unwell!"

He shoved your hands away, sitting up quickly with a burning rage, "I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad!" His skull began to swim, head bowing beneath the pain. "I am... a m-master... assassin."

"Stupid," you muttered, that's what he was. Stubborn and determined, self-righteous. And yet, here you were nursing him back to health, knowing very well that he wouldn't be grateful for it. "Lie down." You pressed his shoulders firmly into the mat, thick muscles over bone. Even in his weakened state Altaïr was a force to be reckoned with.

"You are..." He moaned, eyes slipping closed as he began to drift off into a soft slumber.

You pulled the blanket over him again, movements soft and steady so as not to wake him. You sighed, head falling into your hands. Something had to be done. And soon. You couldn't remember the last time you were this worn out. Perhaps during the rigorous training when you were younger. Master Saif was always so determined to make you better.

Master Saif would have known what to do. He would have had a plan for such a situation. Rely on your training, you muttered to yourself. Rely on the knowledge and skills your teacher had passed down to you.

If you lacked knowledge of medicine, then you would find someone who had it. Surely a surgeon or a physician could provide you with what you needed. In that case, you would have to head into the Middle District and seek help at one of the clinics. Bringing them to the safe house was out of the question, you simply didn't trust anyone well enough for that. Bringing Altaïr would be completely impossible, you lacked the strength to carry him around the city unnoticed.

You rested a moment longer, made sure Altaïr was comfortable and blanketed, before heading back out onto the crowded, early morning streets. The sun brighter and more intense than it had been all week. You followed the shadows casted by the buildings and towers, taking every shortcut you could remember before finally reaching the clinic. You scaled a building close by and examined the structure, watched the comings and goings, the various rooms.

On the eastern side, second floor, there was an office belonging to one of the doctors. You followed the rooftops until you found a building residing close to the clinic. You leapt across, skillfully judging the distance, and gripped hold of the crevice, stone scraping hard against your fingertips. Sand helped keep your fingers dry and your hold firm. You leapt upwards, sliding along the building until you could slip into the office window.

Inside was empty of people but filled with scribbled notes, dusty old tomes, and medical vials. You examined the various bones and skulls, the sketches of anatomy, the pots of various herbs. Your fingers ran over the smooth surface of a curved canine tooth, pocketing it without a second thought. It would look well gathered with your collection, a strange item belonging to a beast you would likely never see.

There was chatter outside of the door, giving you only seconds to leap across furniture and up into the rafters. You quietly perched yourself on the wooden beam just as the door squeaked open and the men clamoured inside, an argument about a patient or another doctor. You weren't quite certain.

"It is only coin," he growled. "We could use those funds."

"Funds that were gained by dishonest means."

"We ourselves are not being dishonest. Only the man who acquired the coin."

The doctor hissed, turning his attention to the books before him. "By taking his coin, we would be aiding his illegal operations."

Your leg muscles clenched, sore from remaining still as they continued their disagreement. Finally, one threw his hands in the air and left, slamming the door shut behind him. You watched a moment longer, the doctor sighing, shoulders slumping as he leaned forward into his desk.

You dropped down silently onto the balls of your feet. "Doctor."

He spun around, eyes wide with shock.

"I have a friend who is in dire need of your help." You stood tall, cocking your head as you examined him closer. He was aged, a thin and scrawny man, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes.

"How did you get in here?"

You tried not to laugh, and thankfully your scarf hid your smile. "The window."

"I see." He took his time to gather his words, eyes shifting slowly between you and the door. You allowed him to consider the idea of running. "Can you not bring your friend here?"

"I cannot, no. I am not here to harm you. Only to help a friend."

He gave a firm nod, his muscle relaxing somewhat slightly. "What can I do?"

"He was wounded by a sword and now he has a fever."

"Ah." The doctor moved about the room but suddenly paused. "A sword wound...  He was wounded in a fight. With the guards?"

You sighed heavily, knowing where this was going. "If you help me, I will be in your debt. My blade will be yours."

"I hardly need a blade," he muttered. "I'm a healer."

You dropped your head, wanting to keep this as civil as possible. You didn't want to threaten him, or anyone. "Should you ever require anything from me then... I shall help to the best of my abilities. Please. He could die."

The doctor finally began to nod his head. "This man must be very important for you to promise me such things."

You couldn't bite down on your laugh fast enough, the idea that Altaïr was important to you. "No, actually, I can hardly stand him. He simply shouldn't have to suffer, that is all."

"That is noble," he stated quickly, hardly expecting such a thing. He walked across the room to one of the tables and gathered a few items, his hands hovering over jars, trying to find the ones he needed. "This upon the wound, daily. And this one by mouth. It will dull his pain."

You took the items, stuffing them away into your robes before turning your attention back to the doctor. "Should you ever need me... there is an eagle that nests in the bell tower of the Poor District. Give it your note and it will find me. I will return here when I can." You didn't wait for his reply. You crawled back through the window and made your way across the rooftop towards home.

Altaïr wasn't important to you, not really. But seeing his state, seeing him shivering and broken... You couldn't let him suffer. You couldn't simply abandon him to his illness. And perhaps, you pitied him. Perhaps, you saw something of yourself in his better half. If he was an Assassin, that must have made him a good person helping those around him.

 


	5. The Cries of an Eagle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are in the difficult position of watching Altaïr's health decline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a great deal of angst/anxiety in this chapter, with suffering as well. Just in case that might upset anyone ^-^;

Inside of the dark den was a coolness that the sun could not touch, could not squelter. You threw back your hood, raked hair hair out of its tangles. You lit a few oil lamps, allowed your eyes to adjust before working with the ingredients the doctor had provided. You would tend to the wound first, clean it of its infection and its festering, redress it with clean linens.

You gathered the mortar and pestle, remembering vaguely the teachings your master had instilled in you. You grounded the herbs into a fine paste then boiled the second vial of herbs in hot water, letting them seep into a darkened green. You searched through drawers and chests for a clean cloth, cutting them into strips to make proper bindings.

Returning to the bedroom, you could see that Altaïr's condition had worsened even more in your absence. His skin was sickly pale, sweat pooling across his body, his hair a matted mess. His body quaked, muscles trembling beneath skin. He groaned non-stop, the mutterings that spouted across his lips were audible but you hardly understood them, events that only he could see, people only he could speak to.

"Father," he pleaded, panting down a gasp. Of course he had a father but you hardly expected him to make a plea for him. You hardly expected the arrogant man before you could ever make a plea at all. But the fever had reduced him down to his truest feeling, shattered every careful wall that he had placed.

You set down the mortar and bandages then turned towards the bloodied cloth tied around his leg. A flick of your wrist, a taut pull of your fingers, and the hidden blade clicked free of its sheath. You carefully cut the tied knot, letting the linens loosen their grip around his thigh, the cold metal slidding back into your sleeve. You turned to work the wound free of its bindings, your hands steady until Altaïr groaned, shifting his weight uncomfortably. You hesitated and took down a steadying breath.

The wound smelled of infection, a sour smell of rotting meat coated with the lingering scent of metallic blood. You tossed the soaked cloth into the corner, turning instead to work the gritty paste into your fingers, ignoring the yellow-green of his open wound. You quickly pressed a large portion of the herbs into the exposed muscle.

Altaïr cried out, his voice strangled by the haze of fever. His body went taut, back arching off of the mat. He groaned through his teeth in agony. His fingers were claws, gripping at anything and everything, clutching fervently onto the pillows. He was in too much pain, his wound tender and swollen, now scorching beneath the searing touch of medicine.

Your whole body trembled, heart rapidly pounding in your chest, hardly ever hearing such a sound come from a man's throat. Assassinating had always been a silent ordeal. You worked through his agonized thrashing, relying on your training to remain calm, hurrying to gather the tea you had left on the counter. You poured the warm liquid into an old clay cup and set it down near Altaïr.

You kneeled down above his head, hoisting his upper torso until you could press his back against your chest, your legs moving to either side of him for support. His arm snagged hold of your leg, strong even in his weakened state, forcing it to bend upwards against him. His fingers dug into the softness of your inner knee, another cry of pain ripping through his chest.

"Drink," you begged, snatching the cup and pressing it to his lips.

His head was thrown back, another grimace, his sweat-drenched hair pressed against the bend of your neck. His hand tightened around your knee until you thought the bone would snap beneath his brutal assault.

"I'm so sorry," you muttered shamefully, "I'm sorry. Drink this, Altaïr, drink it." You pressed the cup more firmly, tipping it until the liquid lapped at his thinned lips. You managed to pour a few swallows into his mouth, throat bobbing as he gulped down the harsh liquid, encouraging him to take a few more drinks before placing the cup onto the ground.

His cries ceased but his muscles were still pulled taut, the heels of his feet shoveling into the ground with each wave of agony. His hand still grappled onto your knee, his other hand reaching for anything to provide comfort from the pain, grasping hold of your other leg, the softness of your thigh.

All you could do was cradle him against your lap, brush fingers through his hair, and whisper softly, "I'm sorry, Altaïr. Wait a little longer. Wait for the herbs to have their effect."

After what felt like hours, your body sighed when his muscles went slack, melting against you. You helped him swallow the last of the tea from the cup before setting it aside again. You rested back against the wall, Altaïr slumped lifelessly in your lap, the sickening events leaving you emotionally and physically drained.

You must have fallen asleep, neck sore from the awkward angle you woke up in. Altaïr was silent, his breathing raspy whispers. You slowly pried yourself out from underneath him, resting him comfortably back onto the pillows.

You began warming some of the thickening soup, softening it until the broth liquified. You poured another cup, helped Altaïr slowly swallow it down sip by sip. Once that was finished, you smeared more of the herbs into his wound and tied the bandages firmly into place.

From the den, you could see the soft glow of moonlight spilling into the parlor. You could feel the intense chill brought on by the night air, freezing the thin layer of sweat across your skin. You sat down into one of the chairs, roughly shoveling back your hair. You couldn't remember the last time your body felt relaxed, your mind felt at ease.

You were still trembling from Altaïr's screams. You had caused that pain. Even after all of your years of training, you were still shaken by the suffering of others. You pressed your face into your knees, body sighing against the hard wood of the chair.

A soft meow startled you from the chair. The alley cat strolled through the den, leaping up onto the counter where you usually left its meals. You rubbed hands across your face and went to work, shoveling the soup's chicken, lentils, and vegetables into a small bowl.

You made yourself some as well but found it difficult to find any appetite, taking to pushing around the food instead. The feline gave another meow and you decided to push that bowl to its feet as well. You stroked a hand across the cat's spine before returning to check on Altaïr.

You sat down against the wall, hunched over and waiting, listening to his struggled breathing. You muttered your pleading, hoping he would make it.

 

~:~

 

For days you nursed him back to health. You boiled the tea and dressed his wounds, constantly coating the open skin with herbal paste. You helped him drink down the cool broth, worried when he made no bitter comments about it being too cold. The infection was residing and the skin was no longer tenderly swollen.

You couldn't quite recall the last time you had slept or the last time you had eaten. Your thoughts were plagued with fear, the idea that Altaïr might die in your care. And so you tossed and turned each night, getting up to check to see if Altaïr was still breathing, and returning to your poor makeshift bed in the parlor.

The sunlight woke you, a heated glow against your skin. Your mind was still exhausted, likely only having slept for an hour. You pressed your hands across your face, rubbing away the weariness that still clung to you. You dropped your hand away, stretching each muscle and joint before finally catching sight of his form standing in the doorway.

"Altaïr." You sat up quickly, taking in his expression and then his bare chest, the blanket tied messily around his waist.

He was slumped against the doorframe, his expression expertly neutral, his brows however were drawn together. His eyes somewhat squinted against the harsh light of day. "What happened to me?" He walked into the room, crossing the small expanse to the fountain.

You drew in your legs, crossed-legged and rested your elbows against your knees. "Oh... Well, you had a fever so I went looking for your informant... He's a traitor..." It wasn't the most tactful way to put it but you were too tired to be tactful. You raked your nails through your hair, ruffling up the already messy strands. "I sought the help of a doctor, treated your wounds for the past few days..." You weakly shook your head, eyes sliding closed, thoughts dizzy with sleep. "A simple matter, really." You rolled your head, stretching the muscles of your achy neck.

He dipped his hands into the cool waters, splashed it across his dark skin, along his arms and shoulders. "You said my informant betrayed me?"

You nodded slightly, too busy admiring the way Altaïr's muscles rolled, the way his body moved as he cleaned off the sweat from his fever, the way his hands skimmed across his tan skin. He glanced over and you muttered quickly, "Yes! I caught him discussing his plans with the guard captain. Fayez. He's got quite a few hands dropping coins in his pocket." You released a sigh the moment Altaïr turned his back to you. You tried not to tilt your head, to enjoy the sight of his flexing back muscles, but it was damn near impossible.

He focused on cleaning off his chest, rubbing water along the tight mounds of flesh. "I will deal with him." He cupped water into his hands, pouring it onto his crown.

You huffed, a bitter laugh following close behind. "You just woke up from a fever that had you in bed for almost a week."

Altaïr turned around, both of his hands shaking the water from his hair. "Where is my gear?"

You shook your head but you weren't in the mood to argue. You hadn't slept in what felt like a lifetime. "I had to clean and mend your robes. Everything is in the den on the table."

Altaïr walked passed, his movements slow, an attempt to keep from limping.

You rolled your eyes, determined to prove him wrong. You threw out your leg the moment he stepped in front of you, kicking up towards the back of his knee which knocked him to the ground. He grunted and rolled onto his back to defend himself from your next attack. You were already on him, straddling his waist, hidden blade protruding from your sleeve.

Altaïr wasn't completely slow. He managed to grab your wrist before you could dip your blade towards his neck.

With a twist of your arm, you slipped out of his grasp. You snagged hold of his hands and pinned them above his head. "You are not strong enough to go out there hunting for a traitor."

He growled. In a quick move, Altaïr had his good leg tossing you backwards, throwing himself on top of you. "Do not tell me what I am!" His face was inches from your, rage in every single one of his features, especially his grimacing lips. Rage or pain, or perhaps both.

You sneered, tapping your hidden blade against his inner thigh, enjoying the scar that adorned those lips of his.

His eyes rolled down to peer at the glint of silver metal.

You happily followed the glance downwards, instead landing your sights on his firm chest above you. "You need more rest."

His shoulders stiffened, gaze refusing to meet with yours. Altaïr lifted off of you and slowly stalked back towards the den. You forced down your laugh, knowing that if you did Altaïr would have returned for a rematch in the sake of restoring his pride. You stood up and made your way to the small remainder of the herbs, boiling what was left and taking the tea to Altaïr. You had imagined him lying down to rest. Instead, he was cleaning his blades, each one laid out before him.

You kneeled down and placed the tea next to him. "Drink the rest of this to keep away the pain. You can leave tomorrow."

He scoffed, not even making a glance towards the cup. "I am used to pain."

You mumbled recklessly, "That's not what it sounded like a few days ago..."

"What?"

"Nothing." You stood up, straightening out your clothes, rubbing fingers into your eyes. "Since you're awake and perfectly capable... I'm going to sleep."

You heard the harsh slam of the safe house door thrown open which stilled your breath and strained your ears. Heavy steps landed into the parlor, your name being called, Master Saif's distinct voice. You threw your attention to Altaïr. "Stay here. Don't make a sound." You hurried out of the room, throwing the curtain door closed behind you. "Master Saif."

He threw down his satchel. "I rode here as quickly as I could. The Assassins are looking for this place. They plan to reclaim this city as one of their bases." He looked about the shelving behind the counter, searching amongst the rolled parchments. "Al Mualim has sent one of his best."

One of his best, you wanted to scoff. "What is our plan?" You swallowed your pulse, remaining neutral and calm.

"I will speak with one of our contacts in the city. We will find a temporary home for you until I can think of a more permanent plan." He straightened his back, shaking a scroll in his hand. "Ah, here we are. I will return this evening. Prepare to grab only your essentials." Saif paused, taking in the sight of you before placing a hand onto your shoulder. "My child..."

You forced a smile, trying to keep it from looking nervous. "Master?"

"You look worn. Did the city keep you busy?"

You sighed, fingers rubbing into your eyelids. "I've been busy, yes." It wasn't a lie... You had been busy but it wasn't exactly the city.

He squeezed the muscle and bone of your shoulder, a tender father to his daughter, a brief and rare moment when he showed affection. He had adopted you, taken you in, cared for you but he was always an Assassin first and a caregiver second. "Rest while I am away. Then we must leave before someone finds you here."

You gave a nod. "Of course, Master."

Saif plodded from the bureau, the breath you'd been holding, gushing from your lungs. You hated lying to him but you weren't entirely certain what else to do. Altaïr already knew of your existence but Masyaf had not yet received the news from him. Saif would likely have to make a choice: let Altaïr leave with the knowledge or kill him. And it scared you to not know which option Saif would choose.

You threw open the curtain, heart pounding in your ears.

"Master Saif trained you." Altaïr glowered at you, stern faced and weapons holstered. You were disappointed to see that he was dressed, belts already finding their way back onto his body.

"You know of him?"

"Vaguely." He stood up, checking his weapons and then used his hidden blade, discerning whether it still worked or not.

You stepped towards him then forced yourself in place, knowing that Altaïr wasn't one for compassion. "Go back to Masyaf and tell them this place is already gone. Tell them that this city would be a waste of resources."

Altaïr let the blade slide back into its sheath, metal scratching across metal. He faced you, his muscles tense and his eyes darkened in their stare, like those of a predator to its prey. "What are you afraid of?"

You screwed your lips down, seeing the arrogance spark in him again. "I am not afraid."

Altaïr stood stiffly, his wound still tender. "Then go to Masyaf yourself. For I will go to tell them about my informant's betrayal, the location of the Bureau, and the thief I found inside."

You nearly lunged at him, nearly threw a punch into him. But in his weakened state, there would have been no use in fighting with him. Even if you won, even if he died, someone would come to the city and look for the Bureau. And it wasn't in your nature to kill simply for killing. You could never take Altaïr's life. "I am not a thief!"

"You dare say such and yet, you stole our armor and claimed our safe house as your own. You know all of our secrets and tell us we can not enter this city because it is yours."

"I didn't steal anything. I worked for all of it."

One corner of his lips tugged upwards. He gripped his hood and pulled it over his head. "If you think yourself so worthy, prove it. Should you fail, I will have the pleasure of watching it."

You lifted your chin and turned out of the room. You scribbled down roughly on a note that you were leaving for Masyaf, apologizing for your deceit. Your mentor, your adopted-father, would find it eventually among the other scattered parchments. You gathered all of your weapons and secured them into place. You also strapped down the thick leather padding onto your right shoulder, covering the soft flesh near your neck and down your arm.

Altaïr was already climbing the wall, and failing quite miserably. His leg still strained to support most of his weight causing his arms to work harder than necessary. You hurried up onto the rooftop, snatching hold of his hand and hauling him upwards. Sweat already skimmed along his skin, his body still not fully healed.

You followed after Altaïr, his slow, silent walk through the city was almost hypnotic. The roll of his shoulders and the ambled way he swayed between the people hardly caused a ripple in the crowd. You copied his movements, analyzing how he slipped passed the scrutiny of patrolling guards and right out of the city gates.

You looked back towards the al-Rahman, the subtle and dull shades of brown that made up the Poor District, rickety wooden structures of bazaars in the markets, and the blur of unfamiliar faces. You would miss this city, your childhood home, but you also felt eager to see the splendor that was Masyaf, to see the vast lands beyond.

Altaïr mounted the back of a horse, shifting his body until he was sitting tall in the saddle, cocky as usual. "Rethinking your decision? You would not turn into a coward so easily, would you?"

You glanced at the horse next to his, eyeing the large beast as it stomped hooves into the dirt. You had never ridden one, never having the need to. Master Saif forced you to walk on those rare training days out in the fields. "I wasn't rethinking," you finally assured him, approaching the horse with mock confidence. "I was..." Saying goodbye, but it sounded too sentimental to say aloud.

The horse before you grumbled, large body shifting suddenly and you jolted away from the beast. Thankfully, you didn't screech in fear. That would have certainly made Altaïr's day better and you were not going to make his day any better than it already was.

He hummed his disparagement. "You have not ridden one before."

You excused yourself haughtily, rather angrily, "I never needed to."

Altaïr pulled the reins of his horse, closing the space between the two large steeds. He reached out and took your horse's reigns, unclipping one end and tying it down onto the horn of his saddle. "There. Now get on so that we can finally be off."

You forced yourself to climb into the saddle, forced yourself not to flinch every time the horse rocked away from you or jolted beneath your weight. You sat down stiffly, the smell of must and dirt coating the horse's hair. High above an eagle gave out a cry, swooping down into one of the many guard towers, its eyes analytical of you. It was one of the many eagles that had grown used to your presence.

You looked back at the city once more. Master Saif would return to the Bureau and find you gone. It would take him time to realize you had left. He would think at first that a job kept you busy. And then he would think you were sick or dying. Perhaps he would find your note. Perhaps he wouldn't. It pained you to consider the effect this might have on him.

You straightened in the saddle, shrugged your shoulders and arms to shrug away the anxiety. You would go to Masyaf. You would prove your worth. You would fight for your place amongst them. You would not run and hide like Master Saif suggested. You could not hide forever. You wanted to see what lied beyond the massive city, what life was like elsewhere.

 


	6. Ruffled Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to Masyaf may prove more difficult than you thought with Altaïr around.

Once the sun was absent from the sky, the air became a harsh chill that brittled bones. You weren't sure if it was just incredibly cold or if the absence of constant heat made it appear colder than it should have been. Your head began to fall, your body swaying as the grasp of exhaustion finally took its firm hold on you. If you didn't stop soon, you would fall out of the saddle and onto the ground. When was the last time you truly slept? A week.... But it felt like months.

"We need to set up camp," you told him, beginning the difficult task of unmounting your horse while it was moving. "Get a warm fire going..."

Altaïr pulled the reins of his mount, turning the large creature until he could face you. "We should keep riding." Typical of him, his countenance never wavering from harshly emotionless.

"I'm camping for the night." You walked off, searching the area for anything to burn, dried grasses and dead sticks. Everything even the sand appeared to be scorched by the sun and thirsty for even a drop of rain.

"Masyaf is just another day's ride." Agile and graceful, he leapt from the horse, leading them towards an old cedar tree, weathered by the winds and sand. He tied their reins firmly onto its twisting trunk, unbuckled their thin saddles.

You rolled your eyes, your hood thankfully obscuring the action. You dropped the last of your extra firewood nearby, to keep the fire going throughout the night. "You are still healing and I need some proper sleep." You tried to start a spark, to kindle any amount of flame on the sun-scorched grasses. A small ember flickered, lapping across the grass and licking the bone-dry wood.

Altaïr tossed down the saddle blankets, dust and dirt swirling from them. He gave a haughty huff as he sat down, leaning back onto his hands, the growing fire casting light upon him, setting his white robes into a soft orange hue. "I can hardly feel it anymore. We only stopped because you can't handle the ride."

Your lips thinned into a bitter scowl, sarcasm flitting off your tongue, "Ah, yes. The Master Assassin. I keep forgetting how grand and marvelous you truly are." He was the reason you were so exhausted in the first place...

Beneath his hood you could see none of his expression. Only the minor curve of his lips, only their thickness. "Do not forget that I am greater than you in both skill and title. In Masyaf you will be no more than a Novice, a foolish child stripped of her rank." He threw a cocky grin your way and not even the shadow of his cowl could hide it. "Get used to referring to me as your master. You will be **below** me."

Your fists clenched but you forced your fingers to straighten, to smooth away any burning anger that flared. You wanted to throttle him, more than you'd ever wanted anything. Altaïr knew just how to push your buttons, to make you grit your teeth and seethe. In fact, you were beginning to think he did it for fun. "God, you are an arrogant ass." You turned to walk away, to find anything around the campfire to keep your attention, to be far away from Altaïr as possible.

"One you find attractive."

You barked a laugh, spinning on your heel to stare at him. "I do not," you lied, skillful enough to make it sound believable even to your own ears, desperate not to glance over his body and prove him right.

"I have seen you admire my form more than once." The corner of his lip curled, his chin tilting upwards to get a better view of your figure, the light of the fire shimmering across his golden brown eyes. "There is no need to hide it. I am an attractive man. Be pleased that I even noticed."

That was it! That was the last straw. You couldn't stop yourself this time. You were furious, angry, a scalding rage that spilled over. You leapt forward, snagging hold of the robes around his neck and threw him into the ground. You swung a hard punch against his mouth, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth and your knuckle, another punch quickly behind it neearly landing into his jaw. But Altaïr snatched your wrist, his entire weight throwing you onto your back, his body pinning you into the sand, your fist forced down onto the earth. He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, savoring the taste of his blood that dappled the split skin, distracting your eyes with the slow movement. Damn those lips of his.

And before you had time to fight back or slip out of his grasp, Altaïr planted his lips onto yours. His mouth firmly molded, his fervent tongue tasting of cardamom and mint, a moan easing from your throat the deeper his kiss became. His free hand outlined your ribs, brushing over the soft round base of your beast, your body leaning into each caress of his fingertips.

Your fingers wrapped around his collar, pulling him firmly against you.

He chuckled into your mouth, still smug as ever, his words even more snide than before, "You get to enjoy being **below** me already."

You growled, feeling your rage suddenly return. You pushed him away, shifting out from beneath him and off of the ground, stalking away from the campfire. It was another of his tests, to show how superior he was, to boast at the magnificent glory that was Altaïr. You hated him, hated everything that he was. You didn't want to prove yourself to anyone or to any Assassin. You had worked for your titles with sweat and blood. You had learned the same skills as everyone else and mastered them.

You hissed, another grumble of hate-filled words on your tongue. Your fingers tugged and pulled at the belts of your hidden blade, prying it off of your wrist for the first time in years, and hurled it out into the dark desert.

You sucked down a breath of air, suddenly realizing your childish tantrum. You looked down at your busted knuckles, your blood no doubt mixing with Altaïr's, the trembles of adrenaline that coursed in your veins.

Damn him. Damn Altaïr. Normally you would have never attacked anyone in a blind rage. But something about Altaïr, something about his personality always ignited your temper and ruffled your feathers.

You sauntered off, kicking up dust and sand. You found the small contraption. It was such a simple thing and yet it held so much meaning behind it. The stealth of the kill, the skill of the one wielding it, the trust of the teacher who bestowed it. You picked it up off the ground and dusted it off, regretting having left home in the first place.

What were you even thinking?

You sat down in the sand, crossed-legged, and slowly holstered the blade back onto your arm. You could still make it back home to the city, tail-tucked between your legs, and apologize to Master Saif for having left. He would lecture you as usual and you would bow your head respectfully.

You closed your eyes, relying on the teaching your master had taught you.

Peace in all things. Peace within yourself.

He still spoke confidently, his tone naturally that way, "Get lost on your way back to camp." His steps had been silent, a phantom drifting across the desert earth.

Your body tensed, each muscle twisting with irritation. Your voice was low, "I'm not going back."

He walked passed you then froze at your words. "You plan to run home, then? Masyaf would have been too difficult for someone like you."

Remember your training, you thought, relax away the tension. "I have no reason to prove myself to you or the Order."

"Excuses. You wear our robes and hunt with our skills. You have much to prove." Altaïr backed away before turning towards camp, his feet just as silent as before. You watched the movements his body made, the fluid roll of muscle and bone beneath his robes.

Damn that man.

It was an excuse. You were somewhat afraid. If going to Masyaf killed you, then so be it. But if it killed your master... You had to try at least. You had to convince them that you were worthy of your title and of your robes, that your master hadn't chosen wrongly.

It was getting there without killing Altaïr. Now that was the true trial.

You stood up and dusted off clothes, turning towards the luminous campfire.

Altaïr was already lying down, his arms crossed behind his head and a knee bent. He opened his eyes as you passed, the flicker of a smug smile that he repressed. Thankfully, he said nothing, only rolled his eyes closed. To your surprise, he wasn't the slightest bit boastful. But he honestly didn't have to say anything. He was the embodiment of cold, calculating arrogance.

Above in the branches of a twisting, gray cedar tree, barren of its leaves, rested an eagle. In its clutches was the carcass of a small fox, fur bloodied and matted, a fine meal for the night. It ate ravenously, its eyes ever watchful over you. The raptor was a gentle reminder of home, of a silent but familiar companion that had accompanied you throughout the years.

You curled up on the thick saddle blanket, both Altaïr and the fire at your back. The desert night was freezing, and dark, littered with distant stars. In the city, it had been a comforting silence. Out in the open, sleeping on the hard earth, it was a frightening reminder of how small and simple you were, how sheltered your life in the city must have been. You cringed when your body tried to shiver, but you trembled anyway despite your efforts to keep it away, a sudden burst of anxiety and cold air.

Altaïr shuffled behind you, likely getting comfortable. You were still too irritated to look over at him. But then his presence came into view, his saddle blanket bundled tightly in his arms. He loosened the blanket before kneeling down behind you, drawing a gasp down your lungs. You were going to sit up, to make a harsh protest, but Altaïr pressed his back against yours with the blanket spread across the both of you.

He harshly spat, "Do not say a word."

"You're still an ass." Your muscles relaxed, the blanket and his warmth adding to the fire's heat. You shifted only slightly, the hard earth making for a poor pillow. But at least you were warm and surprisingly, Altaïr's presence was comforting. You weren't completely alone in the large expanse of darkness. You released a sigh, eyes closing to shut out the speckled starlight.

In the morning, it was either the soft sunlight or the distant cry of the eagle that first woke you. You shifted, the pillow beneath your head somewhat firm, the blanket crumpled around your hips. You forced your eyes open, relishing in the deep sleep your body had longed for. Not once during the night did you startle awake.

You realized, after minutes of processing your surroundings, that the blanket had indeed fallen away during the night but that you weren't resting on a pillow. You didn't have a pillow out here in the desert. No, you were resting on Altaïr's chest, his scent rich with sweet and smoky sandalwood incense.

You leapt away from him, scurrying off the ground until you could pace the small space nearby, pleading that he was unaware of the predicament. He'd never let it go if he knew about you cuddling up to him. Your fingers ruffled back your hair, guiding it down around one shoulder, all while looking over Altaïr's sleek body as he lay out casually on his back. Yes, he was attractive and you had been admiring him, unsuccessfully, when you thought he wasn't looking.

But his arrogance, his rude and cocky tone whenever he spoke with other people... The way he spoke with you... He was insufferable.

Your threw up your hood. You clenched your hands into fists and walked by his sleeping form, kicking sand onto him. "Get up, it's morning! I'll leave you behind."

Altaïr flinched, hand naturally drawing his hidden blade. He eyed you beneath his hood, muttering curses as he dusted off the sand. "You can hardly mount your horse. I would like to see you try and leave me." Altaïr harshly snatched up the saddle blankets.

You huffed, rolling your shoulders as you approached your horse, forcing yourself to untie the beast without flinching. "Shut up so we can leave."

Altaïr dressed the horses and belted down their saddles, inspecting his work once it was done. "We would have reached Masyaf by now had you not made us stop."

"Oh, pardon me for wanting us to get a proper night's sleep."

He mounted his horse. "Proper. Is that what you call fondling over me all night?"

You sucked down a heated breath, sinking your teeth into the bitter comeback, hoping that you didn't begin another brawl with him. Your shoulders and back were stiff as you climbed into the saddle, pulling your hood over you face, and hopefully hiding any signs of a blush.

Altaïr chuckled on his horse in front of you, not even having to look to see your embarrassment.

Damn that man.

~:~

Masyaf was larger than you imagined. The great castle up on the hill, the winding serpentine path leading up to the massive fortress was just as grand. It was the village surrounding its base and hillsides that worried you. Villagers would get caught in the crossfire of any who might make an attempt to assault the castle. And there was bound to be someone out there who wanted the Assassin Order destroyed.

Awkwardly, you staggered off the back of your horse.

Altaïr handed over the reigns to the stable boy, ignoring the young man's respectful bow. He walked confidently towards the open gates, a glance over his shoulder at you. You sped up your steps until you were just at his side, eyes flickering about each new building and path. You memorized everything with delightful accuracy, the well in the center of town, the clusters of homes, the locations of hay carts as you passed them.

"This is Masyaf?" You reached up to your hood, eager to push it back and let the sun warm your face, to see all of the details around you.

Altaïr reached back and pulled your hood further down. "You are not yet an ally here. I would not be so quick to reveal your identity. Some might find you as a rude challenge."

You pulled away from him, casting your attention towards the villagers. They seemed to regard the Assassins with some amount of respect. Both villagers and guards alike, took in the sight of the two of you, moving out of your way when you passed, greeting Altaïr with surprising regard.

You made your way through the village, finally reaching the massive fort at the peak of the mountain. You stuck close to Altaïr, hoping his presence would overshadow you, draw attention away from you. And it appeared to be working, everyone hardly making a glance to you.

"Altaïr!" One of the Assassins approached, grin wide upon his beaming face. "You've returned so soon. No doubt your mission was a success."

"Rauf." Altaïr remained neutral, ignoring the admiration of the man before him. "Is the Master in his tower?"

Rauf followed at Altaïr's side, completely overlooking your presence as you followed at a distance. "None of us expected your arrival but I am certain he is eager to hear your good news."

"Thank you. If you would excuse me." Altaïr hardly bothered to sound thankful. In fact, he never sounded anything but stern. He walked passed the large training areas in the courtyard of the castle, following the massive staircase into the main hall. There you gazed upon rows of bookshelves, lined with old tomes and scrolls, parchment aged into yellow and tan. Scholars weaved through the shelving, organizing and assessing the knowledge collected amidst the tower.

You followed quietly behind Altaïr up the grand staircase and into the highest part of the structure, a balcony overlooking the people below and the large glass windows filtering in the sunlight. Altaïr stood before a centered desk, littered with parchment and piled with books, a gray-haired man with his back to you.

Altaïr spoke up, strong but somehow polite, "Master."

"Altaïr. You have returned. What news do you bring?" He hadn't bothered to turn around, only gazed over his shoulder briefly.

You walked along the balcony, passing Altaïr to peer at the rows of bookshelves that were cluttered with various items from rusty weapons to pristine gems. It made the collector in you itch, your fingers curling with the need to pocket something.

"Our informant in the city was a traitor. He had an ambush set up for me."

"I see. What of the informant?" The old man finally turned around, eyes on Altaïr as he moved around the large desk, his fingertips gliding across its surface.

"Alive."

His attention finally fell on you, watching your presence ever the more as you walked back across the balcony and moved past Altaïr to peer at the pigeon coop in the back area. "And what of Tahir?"

You finally stood centered on the platform, settling yourself to sit gingerly on the balustrade. It would allow you to leap below for a quick escape, just in case things didn't go well with the man. The old Assassin analyzed you, scrutinized your presence, and you certainly let him. There was no need to speak up, not yet, not until he addressed you.

"I found little trace of information concerning him. He was absent of the city at the time." Altaïr motioned a hand towards you. "I found the Assassin's Bureau, as asked. Living inside was someone who may be able to assist our efforts."

"Safety and peace," he greeted mildly, still uncertain, aging eyes narrowing. "You are unfamiliar to me."

You finally pushed down your hood, making sure he caught sight of the hidden blade and the missing ring finger. You wanted him to know all of the details of your training without yet having to tell him.

Al Mualim shifted in his place before his desk, hands tucked behind his back as he moved to get a closer look. "What sort of jest is this, Altaïr."

"This is no jest, Master."

He stepped closer again and you allowed him, determined not to flinch away, determined to be the Assassin you were trained to be. "You wear a shadowed version of our robes. You adorn our most valued weapon. How have you come by these things?"

You spoke honestly, boldly, "They were given to me as is customary when one rises in rank."

"Someone trained you."

"I was trained by one of your own."

"Who among us dared such?"

You tilted your head away, but forced yourself keep a confident smirk. "I would rather not say."

He starred onward, the berate of questions and answers making the air tense. You thought for certain that he would call for guards to have you imprisoned, to have information tortured out of you. "The rank they bestowed upon you, child?"

You leaned forward, elbows buried into your thighs. "Veteran. I am skilled. I am capable. I can prove it, if need be. Do what you wish of me. I ask only that the man who trained me be spared."

He passed the small space in front of his desk, his tired eyes moving from the bookshelves to Altaïr, and then to you. "What is our Creed?"

"Nothing is true; everything is permitted. Our blade never harms the flesh of an innocent. We hide in plain sight. We never compromise the Order."

He seemed pleased with the answer, if not shocked. The more you spoke, the more troubled he seemed. "You have brought her before me, Altaïr." He stopped his pacing and turned his attention now to his favorite pupil. "You know this child better than I. What is your thought on this matter?"

"Test her skill. If she is worthy, take her in." Altaïr's composure surprised you. His answer surprised you more. "She offered her assistance when I requested. It would be unwise of us to discard a useful resource."

He nodded his agreement, turning his attention back to you. "If you speak the truth, child, then prove yourself on the training grounds. You will be a Novice until Master Nizar deems otherwise. He will give you your ranks. He will decide if you are ready."

You hopped down from the railing, giving a bow of your head as you had seen the others do. "I will show you that your efforts are not wasted on me."

"Your master. I wish to know his name."

You swallowed your pulse, eyes fierce upon his.

And he just as sternly stared back. He huffed, nearly broke his lips to smile. "You are loyal. I admire that in you. But your master must relay his story to me. No harm shall come of him, this I swear."

Your gaze flicked to Altaïr's back, somehow thinking he held more answers, before resting on Al Mualim. "Saif. Master Saif."

He recognized the name, even began nodding and tapping his finger as if he were trying to recall something. He spoke half-aware of his words, "Altaïr, show our newest recruit to the training grounds. Then return to me. I have an important task for you in Jerusalem. Fetch Malik when you come."

"It shall be done." Altaïr walked across the platform and down the stairs of the tower, motioning you to follow with a flick of his hand.

You muttered it once you were halfway down the staircase, "You have only just returned home and already you have to leave?"

He glanced at you but that was all he gave as a reply. He moved onward through the tower and out onto the training grounds. "Nizar," he nearly growled the name, greeting the man with little patience. "Al Mualim has tasked you with testing her mettle."

Nizar lifted his chin, eyes looking you over with uncertainty. "I do not understand, Altaïr. What exactly does the master want?"

"Determine her worth. Surely you are capable of that." And with that, Altaïr turned away from the training grounds and made his way back towards the tower. In the windows above, you could see Al Mualim gazing down at you, a watchful king protecting his kingdom.

"Very well," he muttered, eyeing the weapons that lined your vestments. "Let's start with the basics, Novice."

Novice, you wanted to groan, remembering those younger years when Master Saif used to shove your head, his voice younger and bitter then. Surely you didn't have to return all the way back to that rank. You raised a brow, a meager smirk. "Can't you just pit me against twenty of your best and we call it a day?"

"Twenty."

"I've managed it before."

He folded his arms over his chest, his face unamused, likely having heard other Assassins boast such a request. "You've gone against twenty?"

"Okay. Twenty was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like ten... guards, armed guards, in a back alley." You shrugged your shoulders with an eye roll, you're grin completely uncontrolled. "They were accusing a woman of thievery."

He lost his dry tone, a peak of his eyebrow, "Truly?"

You reached up and tugged the cloth from around your collarbone to reveal a marred mass of scar tissue. "Arrow. I was able to use a guard as a shield for the first arrow. Not so much the second."

He sighed but his lips were tugging into a grin. "Alright. I'll start you with some of your better brothers. Let's see how you handle them. Then we'll talk."

You smirked, pleased your efforts hadn't been wasted. It was all you could ask of him.

Nizar turned to the training rings, a wave of his arm for you to follow him and a wave of his hand to motion another Assassin forward. "These are the rules of the fighting ring, Novice. Everyone must abide by them, not matter their rank..."

You tried to listen to Nizar but Altaïr caught your attention. He was walking down from the castle towards the village with two others trailing close behind him. They were heading into the village, likely heading towards their mission in Jerusalem.

"Novice!" Nizar smacked your arm, gripping it firmly. "Are you paying attention?"

You nudged your chin towards Altaïr. "Who is he with? Where are they going?"

Nizar glanced at the three Assassins. "Malik and his brother, Kadar. Where they go is not our concern. Your concern is training." He shoved you towards the ring. "Now, get in there and show us your best." He grinned, a slight chuckle in his throat, "If you took on ten guards, certainly you can take on one Assassin."

You rolled your shoulders, loosened every muscle.

Remember your training.


	7. The Pecking Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse after you encounter an injured Malik

You were covered in the dust and sand of the fighting ring, bruised and sore, but you were still standing strong on your feet. Nizar was impressed with your progress. During the week and a half that you trained under him, you had taken down some of his best students and ran the course right below record time, nearly beating it. You even managed to learn a few new tricks from the others, insights that Master Saif had not taught you. You learned the basics of an equestrian while joining Nizar outside of Masyaf, helping with making contacts and reinforcing connections in surrounding villages.

You had finished your training earlier that morning and found yourself on the mountainside, stone carved away by the frothing of a gentle waterfall to form a pool of water perfect for bathing. It was tucked away from the rest of the fortress, far away from prying eyes, and this spot had been reserved for you by Nizar who was starting to become an older brother rather than a trainer.

You cleaned your garments and tunic before laying them out onto the rocks to be heated and dried by the sun. You dipped your body down into the water warmed by the sunlight and scrubbed away not only the dirt and grime but also the aches and pains. You didn't enjoy your bath for too long, knowing that Nizar wanted to have you work in the armor room. You glanced about the area before pulling yourself out of the spring. You dried off and shimmied into your armor and layers of clothes.

Down the small mountain path were the comforting sounds of Masyaf and the bustle of small village life, the giggle of a few children, and the faint must of livestock. You passed through the training grounds, observing the tactics of those in the ring and remembering each of their weaknesses in battle. Nizar, however, wasn't anywhere to be seen. You found yourself near the stairs and the arched entrance of the castle walls, right outside of Al Mualim's tower.

"Malik! Altaïr was just here," someone shouted, drawing your attention towards the shade beneath the archway. There was a startled gasp and the guard rushed forward. "What happened to you?"

You hurried over to them, helping the guard to support Malik's staggering weight. You could see it now, the dark blood that drenched the cloth around his arm. Something had wounded his arm so severely that it dangled lifelessly at his side, the blood telling a story of its own. Fresh blood spilled amongst the dark, black blood that had dried upon his skin days ago.

"I must speak with the Master." He lifted his good hand, showing the small golden box in his grasp. It sung, an aura that eased off of the metal and tingled across your body. It was an eerie feeling, a strange brush of spiderwebs across the flesh that made your skin crawl.

The guard eased away from Malik, making certain you held his weight. "Get him inside. I will fetch the surgeon."

You gave a firm nod, anchoring Malik's arm around your neck and hauling him up the endless stone steps. "Speak with Al Mualim later. For now, you need medical attention."

"No!" He struggled against you, his voice strangled with either pain or fury. Or perhaps it was both. His brows were drawn together and his lips were distorted into a silent snarl. "Take me to Al Mualim! I must speak with him now!"

You decided that arguing would waste more time. You pulled him into the castle, towards the tower that Al Mualim was always nestled in, buried in his books and his trinkets. A servant passed by and you snagged their shirt before they could leave. "Take the box. Take it with us to Al Mualim."

The servant eyed the golden glimmer, taking it cautiously and carefully, most likely feeling the uneasy aura that seeped off of it.

You redistributed Malik's weight around your neck, forcing yourself to keep moving.

Malik, despite his pain and his blood loss, remained unfaultered as he steamrolled his way up the tower's massive staircase. Whatever fueled him, and you were certain it was rage, gave him more strength than you had.

You were nearly there when you heard Altaïr speak, his voice somewhat muffled by the distance. "I swear to you, I'll find him. I'll go--"

"No! You'll do nothing!" Al Mualim interrupted as his anger swelled.

As you reached some of the last few steps, Malik pushed away from you, grasping his arm and hissing. You hurried forward to help him, just in case he stumbled, but he waved you away with a red stained hand.

"You've done enough." Al Mualim's voice was harsh and brutal, the worst you had ever heard it. "Where are Malik and Kadar?"

Altaïr said it coldly, "Dead."

You heard Nizar shouting your name down below in the main hall. You looked over the side of the stairs, hesitating to make any movements away from Al Mualim's office. You were curious about the events that occurred between Malik and Altaïr. You were curious, perhaps even concerned, about the both of them.

Malik shouted, "No! Not dead!"

Al Mualim, from what you could see through the columned banister, stood firm in his place. "Malik?"

"I still live at least." Malik's eyes were furious, focused on Altaïr alone. If he had enough energy, he would have rushed Altaïr and attacked.

Nizar called you again, his eyes locked on yours when you glanced to him. "Come. You were supposed to meet me."

You waved a hand. "Yes, yes. I'm coming." You trotted down the steps, glancing over your bloodied robes, groaning that you had just cleaned them. You glanced back up the stairs, worried about the severity of Malik's wound. You didn't know the man but you still worried about leaving him.

"Come." Nizar motioned you to follow once you were before him.

"Malik," you muttered. "He came in wounded and... I think he might lose his arm."

Nizar halted in his steps, glancing at your black robes but seeing evidently the sleek moisture of where blood had leaked on them. "Without his arm..." He turned his head away when his voice took a darker turn. He moved onwards down the stairs. "We must focus. We have work to do."

"We should make sure a surgeon reaches him."

Nizar looked over his shoulder. "He is with the Master. They will take care of him."

An Assassin rushed through the doors of the fortress, breathless and trembling with anxiety. "Templars! We are under attack, Nizar!"

His words halted both of you in your movements but only for a brief moment. You hurried behind Nizar, the shouts of the guards and the blood curdling screams of villagers twisting your stomach. The people. You knew they wouldn't stand a chance against the invaders. You tried to rush past Nizar but he grabbed your arm with both of his hands, his eyes fierce, a statement on the tip of his tongue.

You argued before he had the chance, "Those people will die if we do nothing. We have to help them."

His expression firmed, reoriented itself into stern leadership. "Take out as many Templars as you can. Do not risk yourself unnecessarily. Return here when you are called back." He hesitated another moment. "Peace be upon you, sister."

"And upon you." You gave a nod, running forward the moment Nizar let go of your arm.

Outside of the castle gates were the cries of the people, the monstrous shouts of Templars as they laid siege. You rushed along the cliffside, reaching its very edge and leaping forward at the group of knights. You aimed your hidden blade as skillfully as possible, sliding the cold metal into his exposed throat. Before the others could react, you flicked a throwing blade followed behind the thrust of your dagger. You didn't wait to analyze the damage. You tugged the dagger out and moved for the rooftops.

On higher ground you could see the true damage the Templars were causing. Thankfully, there were other Assassins but so few compared to their enemy. The people were frightened as they scattered to their homes. But there were many who were struck down before they could reach safety, their blood drenching the earth in a darkened crimson.

A mother and child caught your eye. You only hesitated for a moment but it was just enough time for a Templar to sink his blade into the stomach of the protective mother. You leapt downwards, hand scraping across the rocky path. You rushed between him and the child before he could kill another innocent.

You thrusted your blade deep into the Templar's throat, right beneath the metal rim of his helmet. Warm blood spilled onto your hand and down the white cloth of his tunic, matching well with the large red cross. You shoved his body away then turned to the small, sniffling child. You scooped her up into your arms, rushing down alleys until you could leap onto the rooftops.

You set her down onto her feet, softening your expression and your tone the best that you could. "Tell me, sweet one, where is your home?"

She eyed you warily, her fingers petting the dampness of her tears. She finally pointed to a small hovel on the hill, the end of a long line of other homes.

You lifted her up gently, placing her against your hip, her face against your chest. You carried her back to the ground below, along the dusty path, through the terrorized villagers as they clustered in crazed crowds. You shoved the door open. Your instincts kicked in when someone swung a large wooden chair towards you. You deflected the attack, thrusting the chair into the floor, and readying for another assault.

He gasped. "I thought you were a Templar."

You set the girl down onto her feet, watching as she ran into her father's arms. "Put your furniture in front of the door after I leave. Safety and peace." You stepped out of the home, sliding the wooden door closed. You prayed they survived.

"Death to the Assassin!"

You spun on your heel, catching sight of white and red and readying yourself for another battle. This time, however, it was a fellow Assassin. He moved quickly, striking down two Templars while you took down the third.

"Still alive," he sneered, letting his hidden blade slink into its sheath.

"Altaïr." You nearly smiled but quickly forced it away. There was no need to let him know how pleased you were to see him again. You shrugged, copying his haughty tone, "Of course I'm still alive. I don't have to patch up any of your wounds, now do I?"

"Hardly," he spat.

More Templars rushed the area, and before they could reach any of the fleeing villagers, the two of you sashayed forward, weapons eager for more blood. You were both patient, parrying their attacks, using their own strength against them. When there was an opening you took it without hesitation, attacking their weakest points and moving on to the next target.

You expected Altaïr to be arrogant, expected him to kill as many as he could in order to boast. But, surprisingly, he worked with you, one Templar at a time, tag teaming until there was only the two of you amidst the blood-stained earthen streets.

"Come, we have been called back." He reached out to grab your arm, to drag you with him but you avoided him easily.

"What?" Your body stiffened. "These people are dying. Look around you, Altaïr. You would just leave them?"

He stepped forward, his hands clenched and his lips pulled downwards, "You don't think I care about all of the people who have died here?" He lifted his palms outwards away from his body, a challenging stance. "Their blood has stained my hands. I shall carry their deaths for the rest of my life." Altaïr backed away, marching heavily back up the path towards the castle, his rage still as strong as ever.

You remained among the village, killing off what Templars you could and ensured that villagers were safely escorted behind doors. But the gates allowed a whole army in, too many for one person to take on. You finally retreated, climbing into one of the highest towers in the village and hid amongst its beams and rafters, peering out behind the curtain to the waves of soldiers.

It didn't take long for Masyaf to catch your attention. Behind the castle walls Al Mualim challenged the Templars from his tower, his words carrying over the distance but too muffled to understand. Whatever occurred at the castle must have been a victory for the Assassins. The Templars scurried about after having a trap set upon them, large logs rolling out and crushing the force. Those that remained retreated, their leader amongst them.

You wasted no time. You hurried into the castle to survey the damage, to find out who was still alive and who had died. Familiar and unfamiliar faces surrounded you and amongst them was Nizar. You gave him a brief hug, overwhelmed that the battle hadn't taken the older man's life.

"Foolish child," he grouched, a hand firm on the back of your neck. "You worried me."

You huffed, shoving his shoulder as you straightened out your spine. "When have I ever given you reason to doubt my skills."

He groaned under his breath. "Do not get cocky on me now." He flicked his chin towards the tower beyond the training grounds. "It would appear that... Altaïr, one of Al Mualim's favorites, has disgraced us."

Altaïr... Your eyes locked on him, locked on the events that occurred. They were posted on the terrace at entrance of the tower, placed before a crowd of Assassins who were still buzzing about the victory of the battle that had occurred.

"I did as I was asked," Altaïr spouted in response to a conversation you were only just tuning in on.

Al Mualim paced before him, his waving hands rigid with tension. "No, you did as you pleased! Malik has told me of the arrogance you displayed--your disregard for our ways!" He motioned to the guards posted and they reached forward, grappling hold of Altaïr.

"What are you doing?"

You drew in your bottom lip, darting your eyes to Nizar then back to the spectacle.

"There are rules. We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassin's Creed. Three simple tenets that you seem to forget." He was furiously pacing again, daggered glances to Altaïr. "I will remind you. First and foremost: Stay your blade--"

"From the flesh of an innocent," he barked, "Yes, I know."

Al Mualim's rage spilled over into a slap across Altaïr's face. "And stay your tongue unless I give you leave to use it."

You flinched, uncertain if you should get involved. This was the way of the Assassins. He had broken the rules, had grown too arrogant and thought himself above those rules. Right? But how could you standby? How could you watch this and do nothing?

You glanced to Nizar, watched his stern expression again. "Nizar?"

He swept a glimpse at you then wordlessly back to Altaïr.

Al Mualim paced once more, his hands clenched behind his back. "If you were so familiar with this tenet, why did you kill the old man in the temple? He was innocent! He did not need to die. Your insolence knows no bounds. Make humble your heart, child, or I swear I will tear it out with my own hands!"

Altaïr struggled slightly, a chained beast grappling against its bindings.

He killed an innocent... Your eyes dropped away to the tan desert dirt.

"The second tenet is that which gives us strength. Hide in plain sight. Do you remember? Because as I hear it, you decided to draw attention to yourself before you struck. The third tenet is the worst of your betrayals. Never compromised the Brotherhood. Your actions should never bring harm to us, direct or indirect. Yet your selfishness brought danger to us all. Worse still, brought the enemy to our doorstep. Every man we lost today is because of you!"

Your hands flew up and pressed fingers into your hair, remembering how harshly you had spoke to him earlier. He had said that he was stained with their blood, he hadn't been arrogant... No, he was pained with guilt masking it as anger. Damn it, Altaïr.

Al Mualim unsheathed a dagger. "I am sorry, truly I am but I can not abide a traitor."

Altaïr struggled again, shoulders nearly pulling free. "I am not a traitor!"

"Your actions indicate otherwise and so you leave me no choice." He approached Altaïr and you found yourself stepping forward, half-believing what was about to happen.

No. No, he wouldn't.

"Wait!" You leapt forward just as Nizar snagged hold of you.

"Peace be upon you, Altaïr." Al Mualim thrusted the dagger forward into Altaïr, forcing a painful gasp from his throat.

"No!" You shoved Nizar away, shoved your way through the crowded Assassins. How could he? How could he kill Altaïr without a second thought. You jumped over the bannister but Nizar was quickly behind you, grappling you unsuccessfully.

"Peace," Nizar pleaded. "Be at peace, sister."

You spat your fury at Al Mualim, not fearing his blade, "You killed him! You are a greater monster! To kill your own people!"

"Yes, child. And perhaps his arrogance died with him!" Al Mualim turned from you, turned from your fury as you slipped out of Nizar's grasp. You lunged forward but the two guards at the platform wrestled you to the ground. You were quicker and clever, throwing a well aimed punch into one's chest, knocking the wind from him. The other folded back your arms, pinning you into the hard, cold stone of the balcony.

Nizar kneeled down, his voice soft but bitter. "He lives. He will live." He shooed away the guard on top of you, lifting you up off of the ground and onto your feet. "Have faith, you will see for yourself."

You pulled away from Nizar, harshly and still full of rage. You followed the guards as they pulled Altaïr's limp body into the tower. You looked back at Nizar, the man who had trained with you for over a week, a sudden wave of guilt as you realized your actions. Your rage fell away. "I'm sorry. For the way I acted."

He chuckled, a hand rubbing along his bearded jaw. "I suppose it's not the first time someone has elbowed me in the face."

You gasped, your head lowering until your hood hopefully obscured your regret. "I had not realized..."

"Once you are finished here meet me in the armory. There is still something we need to discuss." Nizar turned away from you, working his way towards the training grounds.

You hurried up the stairs, catching up with Altaïr easily. They laid him down onto the ground before Al Mualim's desk and began the process of stripping him of belts and weapons. You kneeled down next to his unconscious form, a hand through his hair, remembering how weak he had been during the fever. Stupid, Altaïr. This stupid idiot.

"Loyalty." Al Mualim stepped out from one of the many bookshelves, a scroll gripped in his hand. "You are loyal to Saif and now Altaïr. Tell me, child. What does one do to gain such loyalty?"

You lowered your eyes to Altaïr, hardly understanding it yourself. "Why did you want people to believe he had died?"

He sat the scroll onto the desk, ignoring your question. "I will speak with Altaïr alone. Return to me when I call for you. We shall speak more then."

The two guards stepped forward, ensuring that you obeyed the orders.

You placed a firm hand down onto his shoulder, gripping it once more before standing up and walking away. You hated leaving him, hated the idea that he might wake up frightened and worried. You glanced back, remembering the angelic calmness that had been on Altaïr's sleeping face, the guilt had had briefly displayed back in the village.

You walked through the training grounds, your head down and your shoulders stiff around you. You couldn't help it, loyal or not, you felt a desperate need to help those who were suffering.

Located near the training ground, in another portion of the castle, was the armory. Inside, Nazir was speaking with the blacksmith. He gave a him kindred slap on the shoulder, watching as the blacksmith walked off. "The Master asked that I watch your progress. He asked that I give you the ranks that you earn." He motioned you to follow with a wave of his arm.

"You've spoken little about ranks since this started."

He gave a grin, his dark skin glowing in the lantern light. "You have all of your weapons, do you not?" He patted a wooden table, drawing your attention towards the contents along its surface. "You have earned your place amongst us. And your ranks."

You lifted the bundle of clothes, letting the pristine dark robes unfurl.

"I had new ones made. I assumed you wanted to keep them dark, yes?"

You laughed slightly, remembering how you had treated him early. "I am not so certain I deserve this..."

Nizar grabbed hold of your shoulder before strolling away. "I am your master. And I say you deserve it."

You adorned the new vestments, finding that they fit better than your old set. They smelled of fresh cardamom and sweet vanilla and felt soft as the finest silks. The leathers and metals were freshly cleaned with the citrus and earthy scent of oils. You tied down the leather guards, the plated gauntlets, and greaves. You holstered your weapons back into their resting place, their weight a comfortable reminder.

 


	8. The Eagle Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having proved yourself so well, Al Mualim sends you on a mission that you might end up regretting.

The training grounds were filled with shouts, the harsh scent of musty sweat and blood, sand and dust coating your lungs with each breath. You leaned against the rickety wooden fence around the fighting pit just outside of Al Mualim's tower, waiting in plain sight in hopes that he would finally call on you. You watched two men spar with their best short sword techniques. And you were nearly ready to call it quits, realizing you had been there for most of the day.

"He's not guarding his left very well." He leaned against the ring next to you, his hood was thrown back and the sun was glistening off of his tan skin.

You eyed him, remembering vaguely his name. Aban? Adasi? "His parrying technique is far superior."

He grinned, turning until he could press his back into the railings, his shoulder closer than it had been before. "I am Abbas. I have heard... a great deal about you. All quite wonderful, in fact. Your actions earlier were quite brave, standing up for a fellow Assassin."

You rolled your eyes to him, glaring over his dark hair and beard, the glint in his eye as his gaze trailed across your face and downwards. You chuckled, knowing all too well what he was doing. He hadn't been the first of the Assassins to flirt with you, Nizar finding them more annoying than you did. "I've heard very little about you, I'm afraid."

He moaned his disapproval, a shake of his head. He smiled gently, showing off the whites of his teeth. "That is a shame. Perhaps, you and I could speak of our battles sometime. Get to know each other better."

"You have a great deal to say, I'm sure." You stood up, hands still firm on the railings, your shoulders enjoying the stretch of muscle after having been hunched over for so long.

"Or. Perhaps, we could simply enjoy each other's company." He turned his body fully, a hand falling softly upon yours as he moved closer. "A warrior of your caliber... Surely, you must enjoy an evening of fine drinks with good stories. This evening, in fact."

Before you had the chance to properly turn him down, a kind refusal that you were simply uninterested, another stepped between you, a wall of white robes.

"She will be busy." Altaïr picked up Abbas' hand, tossing it away callously.

"Altaïr." Your heart raced, a tumultuous rhythm at hearing his voice, to know that he truly was alive. You had been worried, had thought perhaps he wouldn't survive, after all. Al Mualim hadn't called for you and the guards had kept you at bay.

Abbas snorted. "Al Mualim finally tire of you licking his boots?"

"If you will excuse us." Altaïr gripped hold of your upper arm, pulling at you to follow him. "The Master has called for our presence." He walked with you towards the large stone steps of the tower, taking the stairs up towards the veranda.

"You're alive." You leaned forward, to peer beneath the shadow of his hood. "I was worried about what Al Mualim planned to do to you."

"Not worried enough, it would seem." He shoved your arm away once you were inside of the tower. "Or do you flirt with men to take your mind off of things?"

A breath of air staggered out of you. "I wasn't flirting. I was trying to watch--" Your lips curled into a lopsided smirk, a sudden burst of confidence. "What do you care if I was flirting? He seemed quite polite. Unless, of course, you're jealous of him."

Altaïr stopped at the end of the main hall. "Upstairs. The Master waits for you."

You wiggled your brows, beaming that you had won a victory against that arrogant ass. But as you made your way up the lavish steps towards the top of the tower it dawned on you... Altaïr had been jealous. Had his arrogance, his kiss back in the desert... Had they been his poor attempt at flirting? Surely, not...

Your whole body reddened, burned with a blush as you reached the last step into Al Mualim's office. You hardly took notice of the elder as he stood at his desk, his eyes lifting as you walked before him.

"Nizar has spoken highly of you." Al Mualim picked up a small piece of parchment, rounding his desk as he read its contents. "He has returned you to your rank of Veteran and has even spoke of rising you higher."

You stepped back, pressing your hands into the soft stone banister behind you. "Does this mean that I have proven myself?"

"Yes, child, and more." He lowered the paper, his aging eyes firmly on you now. "In fact, I have a request that takes you to Damascus. Altaïr has been reduced to a novice for his actions in Jerusalem. He cost the Brotherhood the lives of many good men. You will accompany him on his mission and oversee that he does not veer from our path once more."

You looked over your shoulder, analyzed Altaïr as he paced the antechamber below. He was stripped down to his basic gear, hardly armed for much of anything. You scowled over at the old man. "You want me to spy for you."

"Spy is a harsh word when I ask only that you assure me of his commitment to the Creed." He paced before his desk, hands tucked behind him. "You are an Assassin now. Whether you realize it or not, you are loyal to the Order first."

You gave a slight nod, a weak agreement. "I will do this. But not for you. I will do this for Altaïr's sake." You pushed off the railing, ready to make your way back downstairs.

Al Mualim stepped forward, the paper lifted into view. "Saif is on his way to Masyaf. When you return from Damascus, be sure to seek out your old master."

You wavered in your steps for a moment, your eyes looking over the small familiar scribbles on the parchment clenched in Al Mualim's hand. "What will come of him?"

"Your view of me is poor, child." Al Mualim gave a short laugh, a rusty but light-hearted sound. "No harm will come to him. Go now to Damascus and assess whether or not Altaïr was worth my mercy."

You turned away, pleased to be as far from Al Mualim as possible. It wasn't that you disliked the man. You disliked the amount of power he held over his people, the amount of power he had in general was frightening.

Altaïr was at the entrance of the main hall, no longer pacing but staring out across the training fields. His hands were at his side, seemingly relaxed. But you knew as a fighter, that it was easier to defend yourself when your arms weren't crossed or tucked behind you. He was ready for whatever battle might come, a simple act that had been instilled in him.

"You are ready?" He asked, not bothering to take his eyes off the sparring soldiers.

"Are you?" You walked next to him, your shoulder playfully shoving his, a snarky grin on your lips. "It would appear now that you are below me."

Altaïr's head tilted slightly towards you, his hood obscuring his expression so you weren't entirely sure if he took your joke well or not. He stepped forward across the entryway and down the smooth but dusty stone steps, his silence unsettling your confidence.

The two of you made your way down the paths of the village, taking in the cooler climate of the late evening. It would be nearly dark soon and you questioned whether or not it all that wise to leave Masyaf. Altaïr, in fact, had only just returned and furthermore, it was likely that he hadn't truly slept. Unless, whatever state Al Mualim put him in could be considered sleep.

"Shouldn't we wait and leave in the morning?"

Altaïr replied without a moment's hesitation, "Afraid of the dark?"

"No..." You pressed your lips hard, knowing that this was his attempt to fluster you.

You heard someone call your name, your head whipping around towards the familiar voice. Abbas, smile wide upon his face, his dark beard nearly shrouding it from view. He stated quite confidently, "I thought perhaps you would need this on your journey." He lifted into view a finely crafted dagger, the hilt shimmering with encrusted jewels and finely etched carvings.

Your eyes jolted briefly to Altaïr, a part of you embarrassed and even guilty. "That is very kind of you Abbas but--"

"Shall I put it on you?" He asked the question but he was already stepping forward, his arms sliding around you as he slipped the leather belt onto your waist, his body mere inches from yours, his lips near your forehead.

Altaïr's muscles tensed, his shoulders stiff as a plank of wood and his steps were firm as he plodded away. You watched his hands as he clenched them and unclenched them, straightening his fingers before shaking off any tension.

"This dagger is of the finest quality." He tugged on the belt, ensuring that it was securely strapped into place.

"Thank you... I--" You lifted your eyes to the grinning Assassin, socially unpracticed in how to respond to such a gift. Uneasy that you were more concerned for Altaïr than the predicament you were in. "I'm very honored, Abbas. This was a kind gesture but I--"

"Ah." He lifted his hands, backing away from you slowly. "No, no. Simply consider this a gesture between friends."

You smiled but you felt none of it, still gripped by awkwardness. "Thank you again." You gave a slight bow of your head before walking out of the village gates, his eyes glowing as they watched.

Altaïr was already bringing two horses forward, his walk as bitter as it was before. "Are you still incapable of riding or can we be off?"

You took the reins from his hands, a true smile brimming on your lips. "Nizar taught me the basics."

He lowered his head, his expression more obscure than it ever was before. But it was the sighed grumble that caught you off guard. He mounted onto his horse and guided it up the path, his voice deeper than it normally was, "Be wary of Abbas. His advances are of a darker nature."

You quickly followed on horseback, pulling your hood up over your head to keep off the sun and the dust that was kicked up by the horse's hooves. "What makes you say that? He is a brother of the Assassins, is he not?"

His horse slowed, a gentler pace next to your own. "Abbas always wants what he cannot have and will take what he thinks belongs to another."

You leaned back in the saddle, resting your spine a little. "I've given him no reason to think either things."

Altaïr turned his head away but his horse kept a decent pace next to yours. "Then you are foolish. Accept his gift, then. But know that he only courts you to enrage me."

You huffed, bringing in your bottom lip to bite it firmly. "Oh, of course, everything is about Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad."

"No, not everything." Altaïr finally turned his attention to you, his eyes analyzing but you still couldn't see his expression well.

Your body stiffened when you realized your words and realized what he had said... Abbas wanted to enrage Altaïr? What did he even mean by that? You didn't belong to Altaïr. Although, it might have appeared that way to Abbas when you challenged Al Mualim for killing him.

It was quiet for a long moment, the silence nearly strangling as the horses clopped their way along the road. "Altaïr." His name felt so comforting to speak but your next words nearly struggled to leave your tongue. "What happened in Jerusalem?"

"You have heard the same rumors as everyone else." His grip on the leather reins tightened, his knuckles whitening, his rage from before still strong. "What is your opinion of my actions? No doubt, Al Mualim has explained quite clearly your position."

You kicked your heels and sped up your horse, forcing it to stand in Altaïr's path. "I did not come with you for Al Mualim. And I did not listen to any of the rumors. So, I do not know what truly happened out there in the temple."

"I did what was necessary." Altaïr lifted his chin ever so slightly, his shadowed gaze firmly upon you and your body nearly shivered before him. "I killed an old man. Malik lost his arm and his brother is now dead. That is what happened."

Your gaze lowered, your throat tightening harshly. "Do you not regret it?"

He steered his horse around you, quickening the pace of his steed, and he made no efforts to reply. But you saw clearly the slight slouch in his shoulders and the lowering of his head. You didn't truly need his words to know the pain that he felt, to know the pang of failure. He felt his failure but did he feel guilt for what happened to the others?

Suddenly, it pained you to know that your words might have added to his burden.

 

~:~

 

The horses trotted into the night, the bitter chill of the wind cutting through your vestments, quivering each of your muscles and gnawing deep into your joints. You cringed back another wave of shivers, grinding your teeth to keep them from clattering.

You refused to say anything, to break the brittle silence that had fallen between Altaïr and you. You only peeked over at him passed the rim of your hood, the white of his robes contrasting slightly in the darkness, the faint light of the moon helping guide your path.

Altaïr's horse began to slow, a tug of the reins and he was leading it off of the path to a grassy clearing. "We should camp until morning."

You slid off of your horse and tied it to one of the nearby trees. You sighed softly, pleased to finally be moving your frozen fingers and toes. You grabbed what firewood you could gather into one arm, piling it carefully together with the items Altaïr had already collected. You began the tedious process of setting fire to the dried grasses, easing the small spark into life with a gentle breath now and then.

Altaïr arranged the wood onto the small flame, allowing it to lap greedily at its meal while you unsaddled the horses and bundled the blankets into your arms. You silently set down a blanket next to Altaïr before turning to roll out your own.

Altaïr sat before the flickers of the small campfire. "Yes." His words weren't cocky but they held so little emotion in them. "You asked if I regretted what happened in Jerusalem. I regret not killing Robert de Sable and for not retrieving the artifact."

You lifted your eyes up to him, seeing only the shadow that casted over his face, the light that played across his chin and emotionless lips. "Whatever happened was a mistake. We all make mistakes."

"We do not. Assassins cannot afford to make mistakes." He shoved his blanket into a ball before laying his head stiffly against it, his back pressed into the hard, cracked earth.

You lied down, eyes on the white stars dusted across the black sky, the faint glint of a slivered moon. "Name one Assassin who hasn't made a mistake." You draped your arm across your eyes to block out any light. You prayed that you slept fast and hard, that the morning came quickly. You hated the desert. You hated the openness and the vulnerability.

Altaïr remained quiet.

You made no more attempts to speak.

The fire died down into hissing smolders but you were still wide awake. You lifted your tingling arm, the muscles having fallen asleep in its awkward position. Your eyes fell onto Altaïr, seeking him out like a natural response. He still slept firmly on his back, having remained unmoved throughout the entire night.

You sighed, lifting your eyes upwards to the night sky before looking towards the horses. That was when you caught sight of it, a shapeless smudge in the corner of your eye. Your heart raced the moment it moved, its body glinting like metal plates of armor, moonlight shimmering across its sleek and slender form. You watched it move silently along the sand, your fingers clenching around the coarse saddle blanket as your body stiffened in place.

"Altaïr," you whispered it, voice nearly squealing as the dark creature moved closer, its cold, scaly body slithering across your shoulder. You spoke in a deeper, stressed voice, "Al-ta-ïr."

"Shh." He walked across your vision, slowly making his way around your sleeping place, passing before your feet.

"What is it?" Your entire body tensed, each muscle burning to keep still. "What. Is. It."

He spoke softly, "A snake."

"A what?" You heaved down a few breaths, remembering a few snakes from when charmers made their way through the city. They had been such odd and unnerving creatures without any arms or legs and from what you could recall, they were venomous.

"Look at me," he whispered, throwing back his hood with both hands and locking eyes with yours. "Keep looking at me."

You focused on every detail. The glint of his golden brown eyes and down the prominent bone of his nose, the dark strip of stubble, the curl of the scar on the right side of his mouth, the curvature of his lips. You swallowed your pulse but it was impossible to steady your breathing. His golden skin, even in the pale darkness of the night, was just begging to be caressed.

He stepped forward, each movement slow enough that the animal hardly noticed him at all. He kneeled down on top of you, his weight slowly pressing down, hips against hips and his muscled thighs fitting against the curve of your waist.

Your breath hitched. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes rolling downwards across his figure to where your bodies joined. Your stomach somersaulted and your skin prickled with the heat of a blush. Just this small amount contact was enough to fluster desire out of you.

His hand formed a claw as his attention moved to his target, its glistening body rolling across your neck towards your face. And with brutal precision Altaïr struck. He snapped hold of its head between his fingers, its mouth gaping wide, fangs protruding wildly. His hidden blade clicked free, killing the snake instantly through the skull. He removed the blade, the snake's body writhing all the same, wrapping up and along Altaïr's arm. "Rekindle the fire. I'll begin skinning it."

You looked at the snake briefly before turning your attention back to Altaïr. "T-Thank you..."

He hesitated, unmoving with his eyes on yours, a stare that made your heart flitter violently. It wasn't callous, but it held something primal in it, something stern. Altaïr stood up, reaching to his waist for the small blade and walked his way around the smoking firepit.

The tension melted away from your muscles but you still felt the quakes of adrenaline and the rapid pulse in your chest. You couldn't stop thinking about Altaïr and the way he had spoke to you, softly and encouragingly, the way he felt against you. Your body had enjoyed that small touch, it had leaned into it, still burned with it. You suddenly thought back to that time when Altaïr had been sick, his naked body exposed before you and how affectionate he had been.

You pulled your hood down across your face, feeling the harsh heat of a blush. You focused on the fire, adding whatever bit of dried material you could find, breathing softly on the ashes until the small sparks began to flicker brighter, returning to life. Once it began devouring the small pieces of wood, you added larger ones, letting the flames increase more and more.

Your eyes flicked up to Altaïr briefly, catching sight of him as he worked the thick skin off of the snake. "I'll check to see if there's a stream nearby." You stood up and dusted off the sands that clung to your clothes.

"It is still dark." He slid his blade back into his belt, finished with peeling the bony meat free.

"I can handle it..." You walked off with as much fake confidence as you could muster, not waiting for his reply. You could handle yourself and normally you would have strolled happily into the night for a splash of water. Tonight, you're entire body quivered with the remaining fragments of anxiety and lust.

There was a stream, a thin strip of water that barely quenched the plants around it. You pushed back your hood, kneeled before it and pressed the cold water against your hot face, letting it chase away your scarlet embarrassment.

"The snake needs to be cleaned before we roast it." Altaïr kneeled down next to you, jolting you up onto your feet. He dipped the fleshy pink meat into the water, his fingers gripped firmly around it.

You cleared your throat and pushed back your hair, raking out all of the tangles that had formed throughout the night. You wanted to say something, to break the painful silence but you feared that everything that came to mind would sound ridiculous.

You finally muttered weakly, "What are we planning to do in Damascus?"

Altaïr rose to his feet, flicking off the excess water from his hands. He turned and strolled back towards the camp.

You followed at a distance, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic.

"There is a target we must Assassinate."

You glanced up, watching his body's movement flow from one step to the next, a determined force unfaltered by his surroundings. "What did they do?"

Altaïr looked over his shoulder then turned to focus on skewering the tough body of the serpent. "I do not know."

"What?"

"We will decide that once we arrive in the city. At this rate... we may arrive tomorrow night."

Your brows drew together, the idea that Assassins were sent to cities, to kill targets simply because they were told to. Saif never ordered the death of a person. He ordered you to seek knowledge about that person, to decide whether their actions were damnable. He taught you ulterior methods, blackmail most of all, to twist the arms of your targets, to help the people with as little bloodshed as possible. And many times, yes, assassination was necessary.

You sat down before the fire, watching as Altaïr assembled together sticks to hoist the snake above the fire. You grabbed one of the sticks, eager to cut notches in order to help him assemble things faster. You reached for your dagger, finding that the one Abbas had given you was gone. You glanced about your sleeping space then over towards the grazing horses.

"Something wrong?" Altaïr grabbed the stick from your hand, pitching it into the ground and setting the skewer across it.

"That dagger," you muttered, glancing down at your belts once more, thinking perhaps you had overlooked it. The leather belt, the sheath, and the dagger... They were all gone. "It's missing."

Altaïr leaned back, eyes on the crackling fire and roasting meat. "It must have fallen off during the ride. Abbas was never good with his hands."

You kept your head down, hood shrouding your face, and rolled your eyes up towards Altaïr, taking in his body language as he leaned back onto his hands, his weight rolled towards one shoulder. Perhaps, that was smugness... Altaïr had been upset about Abbas, upset about the dagger, even.

You remained cool, even allowed a smile to slip free, "I'll just have to find a way to make it up to him."

Altaïr turned his head away, mouth still as expressionless as ever, his face the stern carving of a bronze statue. "You would be so eager to please someone you barely know?"

"Well..." You shrugged a shoulder. "He was kind to me, after all."

"His kindness will come with a heavy price." He leaned forward, fists clenched behind him, knuckles hard in the dirt. "He is not to be trusted."

"Why? What has he done to you?"

Altaïr shook his head, turning his attention away from the camp and away from you. He spoke nothing further, only stared off into the softening darkness, the early morning finally creeping her way over the horizon.

 


	9. Dancing Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the long and tedious journey you arrive in Damascus with Altaïr

Damascus was a large city, far larger than the one you had grown up in. Its walls were like those of a great fortress, rising up around the innumerable towers and minarets that peeked high above the flat rooftops and domed mosques. You suddenly missed al-Rahman, a small and simple city but still full of beautiful structures and gardens that you had grown to love and adore. You wonderd if Damascus had flourishing gardens painted with a variety of flowers, filled the with the chatter of song birds.

It was late evening when you reached the cliffs overlooking the city and by the time you reached its gates it was night. Altaïr leapt off of the back of his horse with so much ease and grace you were beginning to think he was showing off. He handed over the reins of both steeds and motioned you towards the stables, wordlessly walking away from the city.

"You know I don't like horses," you muttered under your breath, tugging cautiously on the reins. Thankfully the large beasts followed behind you, the clattering stomps of the hooves chilling you down to the bone. You could ride one, sure, and you could probably race one but... they still unnerved you.

You left them with the stable master, kindly giving him your thanks before seeking out the Assassin you were supposed to keep an eye on. You gawked at the row of guards at the gates who were watching cautiously as everyone walked passed. You caught a glimpse of the white and red robes of Altaïr and worked your way through shambled market stalls to hear the pleading sounds of an older man.

You sped up, heart quickening when you realized guards were hounding a priest.

Altaïr was quick and fierce, his hidden blade sinking into the spine of one of the three guardsmen. He parried off the other two. It was easy to sneak up behind one, to grab hold of the back of his tunic and throw him into the closest building. His skull slammed against the hard edge, knocking him unconsciously into the dirt.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" The old man, a simple priest draped in white robes bowed and kneeled before Altaïr, the last of the guards dead at his feet with a deep wound in his chest.

"Think nothing of it." Altaïr raised a hand, to halt the man's praises. "I need a way into the city. You can accomplish this, yes?"

"Yes, yes, of course." He began to walk along the path. "This way, come."

The two of you followed the priest towards a group of men, all of them garbed in white, their hushed whispers ceasing as you approached. The monk told them of the rescue and they agreed that sneaking you into the city would be easily accomplished, your dark robes posing the only difficult task. They handed you a large white cloth and Altaïr, with surprising gentleness, helped layer it over your dark vestments. He hooded it over your head, fingertips sliding down the rim to join it together.

"Come, we will sneak you into the city." They bowed their heads and pressed their hands before their faces. Altaïr copied the motion, merging into the center of the group, eyeing you to quickly follow. You clutched onto the cloth around you, bowing your head as you walked beside Altaïr, a step behind him in hopes that he would overshadow you from the view of the guards.

It was a tense moment when the guards kept their eyes on the group, slowly backing away to let the monks pass. The group entered into the quiet courtyard.

Once inside, Altaïr's hand found the curve of your spine and drew your attention to him. He stepped before you, slowly removing the white cloth as your eyes examined parts of his face that the hood allowed. He too, in turn, was examining and taking in your features.

"Thank you, again. If only there were others half as brave." The old priest bowed his head once more, gathering into his arms the tapestry that Altaïr handed over.

The Assassin walked away, continuing past the empty stalls of the marketplace with you slowly following behind.

  You had to regretfully admit that despite his arrogance and bitterness, Altaïr was a good person at heart. He had helped the monk... It cost them only their assistance. It was hard to look at him without smiling, without suddenly feeling a need to admire him.

Altaïr found the closest vantage point, a towering minaret, and glanced back at you. "We can find the Bureau from here."

"You go ahead..." You busied yourself around the closing markets, smirking once you were certain Altaïr wasn't around. You took in the goods as they were being hauled away by merchants until tomorrow morning. You admired the Poor District, its people far more sociable and considerate, their lot in life an unfair disadvantage but they worked hard nonetheless.

You strolled towards the lapping of a fountain, chiseled stone encrusted with lavender glazing. At its base grew bright blue flowers, their color barely showing in the soft yellow of lantern light. You reached down and plucked off one of the petals, enjoying the softness against your calloused fingers and savoring the gentle scent as you breathed deep.

There was the shink of metal just as strong arms slipped around you, a tight hold around your waist and another angled across your shoulder. The curve of your back pressed into his firm warmth. Your eyes rolled to see the hidden blade near your throat, a grin breaking free, the petal slipping from your fingertips.

Altaïr whispered roughly, "You are not a very good Assassin."

You chuckled as innocently as you could, spinning around in his embrace until your hidden blade neared his groin, the metal clinking loudly. You reached an arm around his chest and behind his torso, snatching the hood from his head. "Am I not?" You leaned your lips a bit forward, inches from his, admiring the dark stubble but mostly the soft scar. You lifted your gaze to his eyes, honey hued with amber and speckled with gold flecks.

His eyes danced along your features, the soft light casting shadows across the angles of his jaw and cheekbones. You thought for certain that Altaïr's lips leaned towards yours, almost closing the small space. But he stepped back, both hands flicking his hood back on. He nudged you to follow him down the vast labyrinths of the city.

You tried to press your grin away but it was impossible. You had not only bested him, sort of, but you also thought that perhaps Altaïr was making an attempt at flirting.

The two of you reached the Bureau, slipping into the quiet little safe haven, delighting in the chance to finally relax for the night. You couldn't remember the last time you had slept well. The desert was too ominous and Masyaf felt like standing on glass shards.

"I don't understand how you can endure horseback riding." You groaned while easing yourself to the ground. "My back feels like a giant bruise."

Altaïr sat down with his back against the wall, an arm draped over his bent knee. "How did you manage to get to Veteran with such a fragile body?"

You breathed down a slow, tight breath as your back felt all too well the firmness of the ground and the tense pain in your chest. "I am going to pretend I did not hear you just say that."

"Should I speak it louder for you then?" He turned his attention to you, and despite the shadow of his hood, you knew he was glowering right into you. "You. Are. Weak."

"Are you kidding me, right now?" You threw your hands up at the sudden burst of annoyance that Altaïr sparked. "I'm fragile? The first time we met, you were in bed for over a week from a sword wound. You're welcome, by the way. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead."

"I had a sword wound." His head tilted. "You have... an ache."

Your anger finally swelled over. You snatched hold of the closest pillow and without even considering it, you chucked it right into his face.

His lips parted and you could only imagine what the rest of his expression looked like. He was shocked, completely and utterly shocked. It had caught him so off guard that he hadn't even blocked the pillow, not even an effort to parry.

Your hand fell onto your mouth, uncontrollable laughter bubbling free and your hand did little to help silence it. You sat up, stomach clenching each time you laughed. Altaïr remained frozen, even as you crawled and laughed your way over to him. "I'm so sorry. I don't know... what came over me." You placed a hand on his chest, slight tears in your eyes as you struggled to breathe between each chuckle.

Altaïr was unamused. He turned his head away, his lips still slightly parted.

You smiled and pushed back his hood with both of your hands, nervously, almost waiting for him to protest. "Come now, you know you want to laugh."

He snatched hold of your wrists, turning those amber eyes on you. "Do not touch me."

You swallowed down your laughs as your head turned downward from him, his heated gaze far too much to bare.

He spoke harshly, "I only meant--" He growled out a sigh, shaking his head lightly. He made an effort to speak gentler, "We can not afford distractions."

"Distractions?" You rose a brow, trying to judge his expression but Altaïr was so incredibly unreadable. He thought that you were trying to distract him? That maybe you were flirting with him?

He let your wrists go, shifting his back hard into the wall. "Go to sleep."

You hummed your exhaustion as you lifted up onto your feet and returned to the scattered pillows. "You're not actually planning on sleeping against the wall, are you?" It was awkwardly painful lying back down. You grabbed the largest pillow for your head, shifting against it until you were finally settled. You looked at Altaïr when he made no effort to reply. "Seriously?"

He made a slow sweeping look to you.

You gave him your sternest expression. "It would help me sleep better if you were..." You groaned as you turned your attention towards the wooden lattice above. "Just, shut up and sleep over here." You didn't want to admit that the last time you had a decent night sleep was back in the desert, that first night together when you curled against his warmth.

Altaïr forced himself to his feet, his movements jagged with annoyance.

"I don't get what the big deal is." You rolled onto your side, clinging a pillow to your chest as you tried to get comfortable. "We slept near each other on the way here."

He shoved some pillows around with his foot before settling on top of them, back firmly pressed down, ready for any attack that might occur. "There is a difference," he finally stated, voice stern but somehow softer.

You rolled your eyes again, unable to stop yourself. "Like what?"

"Good night." He shifted once more before closing his eyes.

You breathed deeply then sighed. You felt it, another long sleepless night looming over you. But, Altaïr's presence helped. You felt safer, unlike the other nights in Masyaf. However, sleeping on the floor with only a pillow under your head, was aggravatingly uncomfortable. You unfurled onto your back, arms splaying wildly.

You tried to focus on something, to clear your thoughts away but... Damn, Altaïr was lying down in the same room with you... You replayed everything in your head that had ever occurred between the two of you: that softer and gentler Altaïr who had been sickly as he clung onto your presence, the jealous Altaïr who fumed over Abbas' gift and possibly got rid of it, the kinder Altaïr who had helped a single monk against a few guards... You suppressed your laughter when you recalled that way he had snuck up on you, the way he had felt behind you...

You shook your head, finding that these thoughts were making it even more difficult to sleep than before. You hated it but you always focused on the good in people and Altaïr was no exception. In fact, you were starting to believe you felt something towards him, something more than just friendship or kinship.

"Altaïr," you whispered harshly. You took a brief look at him and envied his ability to fall asleep within a matter of seconds. You tried not to whine in your next whisper but you truly were exhausted, "How do you sleep so quickly? I haven't slept well in almost a week." You glanced at him again, finding him still unchanged and even asleep Altaïr was infuriating. You snatched hold of the closest pillow, pressed it into your face and muffled your screams with it, "Damn you, Altaïr. I shouldn't need you to hold me to sleep." You gave another irritated scream.

You sat up, the pillow falling from your heated face. You decided a splash of water to drink might sooth you. You leaned over the stone basin, dipped your hands into the cold liquid and drunk it down. It chilled your body, drawing another sigh from you, this time more pleasant than before.

"You make a great deal of noise for someone who is trying to sleep." Altaïr was leaning up on one elbow, eyeing you viciously.

"Yeah?" You lifted your arms, almost challenging him to say something else rude, challenging him to fight you. You returned to your poorly assembled bed, dropping down onto it with your back to him. For the hundredth time in one night, you exhaled a grumble unable to stop yourself. Something hard pelted into your back. You sat up and glowered at the pillow that smacked into you, before lifting your gaze to Altaïr. "Are you joking with me?"

"I can not sleep while you make so much noise."

"I wouldn't make so much noise if you--" You growled, swallowing the rest of your sentence. You smashed hands into your pillow to release the frustration that had built itself in you over the past few days. You jumped onto your feet. "I'm going to take a walk."

Altaïr spoke brashly but he made an effort to lower his voice, "Hold a moment." He pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly took down a deep breath. "There is something keeping you from sleep."

"Is that your pathetic attempt to ask me if there's something bothering me?" You pushed your lips to the side.

His jaw clenched.

"Wait, I'm sorry." You shook your head, realizing how rude you were being. You rubbed your eyes with your fingers, feeling how bruised they felt. "You make me so angry, sometimes."

His head tilted, almost as if he were trying to hide his entire face but without his hood you could see some of his expression.

You lowered back down to the floor and crossed your legs. "I can't sleep."

"That was obvious."

You gawked at him another moment before muttering, "Why are you so rude? Can't you be nice to me for one moment?"

"Fine." He pushed himself up off the ground. "What do you want?"

You shook your head languidly, a soft and tired whisper as you spoke, "Nothing. Never mind." You let a heavy breath slip past your lips, curling on the floor with the oversized pillow under your head.

Altaïr shuffled noisily behind you and when you peeked over your shoulder he was kneeling down next to you. He shoved your shoulder, forcing you look away as he laid down, his body curving to match your own.

"Atlair..." Your whole face burned at the realization that maybe Altaïr had heard your muffled words into your pillow.

"Silence." His arm draped around you. "Go. To. Sleep."

You nibbled fiercely on your lip. With each breath his chest caressed your spine, and the gentle hush behind you, the soft whispery exhales, were slowly lulling you into sleep. You felt your body ease back against him, to melt into his warmth. You didn't understand it, this need to have Altaïr so close, but it was a matter for another time. Your eyes slipped closed and your thoughts fell away.

~:~

"Altaïr," someone barked, a deeply annoyed tone.

You lifted your head, finding that you had somehow managed to curl against Altaïr as he slept on his back. You noticed that he liked sleeping on his back. The morning light was sharp against your retinas as you turned your head away, looking instead at the man who loomed over your sleeping place.

He was draped in a black binish, the dark loose robes of the scholars. "Altaïr, have you truly sunk so low that you would invite a prostitute into the sanctuary of our Bureau?"

You swept your attention towards Atlaïr's expression, finding that it was unmoved, a simple stern stare. You whispered slowly as the realization came upon you, "Did he just call me a prostitute?"

Altaïr sat up, roughly moving out from underneath you. His attention fell to the Rafiq, words spat out in a staccato, "Surely, you have received Al Mualim's missive." He snapped over his hood, pulling it down to hide his face once more.

"Yes, in fact, I have received many a missive. One declaring that you would arrive with another Assassin, under their supervision." He walked away, hands motioning wildly as he spoke. "There was also the other Assassins who have informed me of your much deserved demotion. Shall we speak of that as well or will you explain to me where your Overseer has managed to wander off to? Perhaps even, you accidentally left them behind!"

"It certainly sounds like something he'd do." You slowly got to your feet, stretching every muscle and enjoying the restful ease that sleep left in you. Damn Altaïr for making it easy to sleep when nothing else would.

Altaïr spoke firmly to the man, his words as bitter as you remembered them back when you first met, the spark of hatred on his tongue, "Are you finished?"

"I forget myself, sometimes." He turned and focused on Altaïr and then you. His eyes trailed along your vestments, along the belts littered with weapons. "You are... not a prostitute?"

You narrowed your eyes, trying to find the best reply.

"She is the Veteran tasked with overseeing my mission." Altaïr stood up with agile grace, following the Rafiq into the dimness of the den.

"Ah yes, your mission." He rounded the counter where pots cluttered its surface, some of them unfinished.

You wandered around the new room, taking in the bookshelves lined with scrolls and parchment, weapons cluttered on the higher shelves. You began missing home and the collection of whatnots that cluttered the space there.

"A man named Tamir." Altaïr stood before the counter, getting right to business. "Al Mualim takes issue with the work he does. I am here to end it. Now tell me where it is I can find him."

The Rafiq scoffed, picking up his paintbrush to begin decorating the rest of the clay pot before him. "Surely you remember how to track an enemy."

"Of course, I do!" Altaïr nearly growled his words out. "That sort of work is best left..." He turned sharply and paced along the counter.

He nearly grinned and you could hear it in his words. "Best left for a Novice like yourself."

Altaïr's body stiffened, his hands furling into fists. "I understand."

"Your Overseer..." He eyed you for a moment. "She must remain here until the task of assassination has arised. We couldn't have her... lending too much of a helping hand."

"Yes, fine. Tell me what you know of Tamir." Altaïr was growing impatient, his body tense as he walked before the counter.

The Rafiq focused on his painting. "He makes a living as a black market merchant. The Souk district will be your destination. I suggest you seek out the following places: a small souk northeast of here, a madrasah to the east, and the gardens to the north."

"I will return when I am finished." Altaïr strutted back out into the parlor and onto the streets of Damascus.

You eyed the Rafiq as he lifted his attention towards you. "Painting, huh?"

"Everyone has a hobby." He shrugged a shoulder before pushing the pot aside. "I am more curious as to how you managed to tame our mutual friend."

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you mulled over his question. "Altaïr? What do you mean?"

"I can not remember a time when Altaïr had his hood down." He rested his chin onto his hand, another slow sweep across your robes. "I certainly can not say that I've ever seen Altaïr let anyone touch him."

You could feel the heat of a blush coming and decided that changing the subject would be for the best. You jumped at the first opportunity, tossing a finger at the board on a nearby table. "I bet I could beat you at a round of Nardshir."

He gave a grunt but waved you over. "Very well, bring it here."

 ****  



	10. Taloned Predators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for the first target finally begins and, of course, Altaïr makes things difficult as always.

Even plied with alcohol and stories, your opponent was merciless in every match. Thankfully for you, the game was played for fun and no stakes were actually placed down. You had been bested in three rounds of the game before Altaïr finally returned to save you from making a greater fool of yourself.

The Rafiq greeted him with more enthusiasm than he had held earlier, somewhat tipsy from his drinking, "Altaïr! Welcome, welcome!" He waved the Assassin closer to the counter, likely overwhelmed with the victory of his Nardshir skills.

"I have done what you asked. Now, give me the marker."

He rolled his eyes to you, the disdain that coated them drew a chuckle from you. "First things first: what have you learned?"

"Tamir rules over the Souk Al-Silaah. He makes his fortune selling arms and armor, and is supported by many in this endeavour: blacksmiths, traders, financiers... He's the largest death-dealer in the land."

You gave a nod, understanding now. "That must be why Al Mualim wants him dead."

The Rafiq stood tall, his head a bit higher. "And have you devised a plan to rid us of this blight?"

"A meeting is being arranged at the Souk Al-Silaah." Altaïr began pacing with impatience. "They say it is the largest sale that Tamir has ever made. He will be distracted with his work. That is when I will strike."

He searched behind the counter. "Your plan seems solid enough. I give you leave to go." He lifted into view a white eagle's feather and placed it before him. "Let Al Mualim's will be done." He started to grin as he leaned onto the countertop, slight sarcasm on his tongue, "Rest here if you need it. A drink to parch your thirst, perhaps?"

Altaïr snatched the feather and slipped it into his tunic. "I have no need for either."

You let a scoff huff past your lips. "What are you going to do? Loom over the Souk until your target appears?"

He glimpsed at you over his shoulder. "Yes."

You rolled your eyes, making sure the Rafiq saw your displeasure, before throwing up your hood and covering your mouth with your scarf. He cleared his throat, busying himself with his pottery as his lips widened into a smile. You followed Altaïr out of the Bureau, shadowing his steps across the dusty rooftops and scattered wooden framings. You approached the Souk, the immense noise of the traders reaching multiple buildings away. Altaïr stalked up behind one of the archers posted on the rooftop, his arm drawing back for the silent kill.

You barred his path, a strong arm keeping him from the guard. You shook your head and despite his hood, you knew the hatred that he daggered at you. Silently, you hooked a hand over the guard's mouth and an arm around his neck, dragging him backwards towards one of the wooden structures, his efforts wasted.

Once you were certain he was away from sight, away from any guards that might wander by, you tightened your arm around his throat. You pinched his air supply, using your free hand to hold down your arm as he struggled. It wasn't pretty and it certainly wasn't your most glorious moment. But, at least the guard didn't have to die. He would wake with an awful headache but he would be alive.

His weight fell limp and you eased him into the wooden framing.

Altaïr swaggered by, scrutinizing your work. "I could have killed him and been done with it by now."

You bound the guard's wrists together before tying a gag over his mouth. You stood up and ensured the burlap curtain was pulled tight, hoping that hiding him would give you at least a few hours. "Yes, you could have. But have you never considered that this guard is a person, following orders to protect his city? If he dies, what do you think will happen to his family? To his wife and child?" You sashayed past, eyes confidently on him.

"We are Assassins. We do what must be done."

"To what end?" You glowered at him, suddenly feeling your body tense. "The Order says they stand for peace and yet... you would so easily condemn a man for simply doing his job."

"If one man's life stands in the way of Al Mualim's will--"

You nearly growled, your lips twisting with the sudden bitterness. "What peace will there be if you kill all of the guards who actually protect the people? They are the ones who stay here while you return to Masyaf. Not all guards are evil, Altaïr."

Altaïr paced past you towards the edge of the roof. "There is a far bigger picture than the people and the guards."

Something painful in you twisted around your heart. "I think I understand why Master Saif kept me from the Order..." You shook your head, stepping away from him. "If this is all the Assassins can offer then..."

Altaïr looked away, his head tilting downward to hide even his mouth from your analysis. "You have only been with the Assassins for a mere week. You do not understand our true purpose."

You walked towards the edge of the roof and examined the bustle of the Souk below. "I was one of those people down there, begging for scraps and cowering in the shadows."

He lifted his head slightly, perhaps enough to study your expression. He took to examining the merchants instead. "Tamir. Just over there." Altaïr followed along the edge before slipping down into the alley.

You copied his movements, sliding in and out of the crowds with cat like grace and ease.

"I've done all I can." A man draped in simple robes followed at Tamir's heels, hardly daring to stand beside the wealthy black merchant as they walked towards the center of the Souk where a babbling fountain flourished between stone benches.

Tamir barked over his shoulder, "It is not enough."

You walked with Altaïr, moving around the gathered stalls, inching your way towards the true target.

His voice was small but you heard it clearly, "Then perhaps you ask too much."

"Too much?" Tamir halted mid-step, spinning to face the cowering man with towering fury. "I gave you everything! If it weren't for me, you'd still be charming serpents for coin! All I asked in return was for you to fill the orders that I bring you." He stepped forward, closing what little space there had been. "You would dare disrespect me?"

His shoulders hunched up around him, palms rising in meager surrender. "Please, Tamir. I meant no insult."

"Then perhaps you should have kept your mouth shut!" He reached behind his back, a dagger thrusted from its resting place to slash across the poor merchant's bony figure. Everyone's eyes were on Tamir, the whole Souk gasping and recoiling from each harsh hit.

Your body jolted forward, a natural reaction to defending others. But Altaïr was quick. He snagged hold of your waist and pulled you backwards into the wooden frame, pinning you between him and a stall. His body enveloped you, swallowing your form from view, his hands taking in the bones of your hips.

Altaïr spoke coldly, "We strike from the crowd. We must wait for the right moment."

You slipped your eyes closed and desperately tried to ignore the painful pleading of the merchant.

Altaïr peered over his shoulder towards the scene then down towards your expression. "He is surrounded by his men. Everyone's eyes are on him."

The older man's arms crossed before his face, taking the full brunt of the slicing metal. His words were hardly audible, a faint plea, "No! Stop!"

"Stop? I'm just getting started!" Metal tore through flesh and bone, bringing the man down to his knees until he was falling dead into the waters of the fountain, staining them a dark crimson. "You came into my Souk! Before my men! And insult me?" Tamir put away his dagger and halted one of his men as he stepped towards the dead body. "No. Leave him." He turned his eyes to the trembling crowd. "Let this be an example to the rest of you. Think twice before telling me that something cannot be done. Now get back to work!"

Altaïr stepped back, prying his gaze from you to Tamir. He worked the crowd, easily swaying between the people. Tamir was occupied with a stall, his words hardly audible. You were too focused on the fountain and the merchant's lifeless eyes. Such senseless death pained you down to the core.

Altaïr approached him from behind, just as Tamir was moving on to the next stall for inspection. The initial attack was brief, a matter of seconds that could have been missed if you had blinked your eyes. His hidden blade thrusted into Tamir's neck, staggering the man off of his feet and onto his knees.

It took a few breaths before the crowd and the merchants realized what had happened. Their screams filled the air and they scattered from the Souk in a frightful frenzy.

Altaïr kneeled down before him. "Be at peace."

"You'll pay for this," he spat, blood gurgling his words as his body crumpled to the ground. "You, and all your kind."

You stopped listening, approaching the dead merchant instead. You closed his eyes before turning your attention towards the approaching guard patrol. They were suddenly on alert when the people screamed, "Murderer!" They marched forward down the street, pushing passed the scattered civilians.

You jumped to your feet and ran to Altaïr. Snagging hold of his arm, you dragged him away from Tamir as his final breaths staggered from his lungs. Altaïr grabbed your hand, surprisingly gentle, and pulled you through the twists and turns of alleys and streets. Despite the high number of people on the streets, Altaïr was able to avoid running into them.

He took a hard right, and before you even had time to gasp, his arm wrenched around your waist and threw you into a hay cart with him. Your back hit the plush of hay and his heavy weight crushed on top of you, sinking you both to the hard wooden bottom.

Altaïr engulfed you, his breath tickling against your cheek and neck as he heaved down each one. The run had left him breathless, the both of your chests rising and falling in irregular unison. "Yes," he whispered but even in whisper his tone remained stern. "Killing that guard would have been unnecessary."

You turned your head, unintentionally brushing your lips across his jaw.

He jolted a little, his entire body shifting against you, his weight anchoring against your center. His thigh pressed firmly between your knees, your entire body leaning into his touch, the hay cart suddenly becoming warmer and steamier than you ever recalled.

You should have turned your head away. You should have stated that the guards would have given up the search by now. But your entire body felt the heat of a blush. "Tamir was a monster and maybe... maybe there is a bigger picture that I don't see. I just can't understand how killing so many to get to one man..." You slightly shook your head until a large hand slid up along the softness of your arm towards your shoulder.

There was clamouring outside of the cart, metal clinking against metal. Someone shouted, "They couldn't have gotten this far!"

"Let's turn around. They had to have taken a different path..." Their hurried stomping and the clatters of their chainmail faded away.

You released the breath you were holding.

"By killing Tamir we ensure others will live. The death of one guard could have ensured Tamir's death, saving many." He lifted his head so that he might look at you face to face. "Next time, we many not have the luxury of letting a guard live. You are naive to think every man can be saved. And if I must, I will kill whoever stands in the way of reaching my target."

You shook your head, your eyelids heavy as his words began to weigh on you. "How are you any different than your enemy?" You tried to slip out from underneath him but his hands fell down firmly onto your shoulders, pinning you down.

"Assassins must work in the dark to serve the light. We kill so that the world might be a better place than it was before."

"If you are so correct... Why do think Al Mualim stripped you of your ranks?" You shoved him away, stumbling of out the hay and onto the dirty streets of the Poor District. Your shoulders hunched around you as you slowly made it back to the Assassin's Bureau, following the shadows that the evening sun cast upon the city, hardly caring about the clusters of people around you.

Altaïr was slowly lagging behind, thankfully giving you much needed space. You both entered into the safe house but when Altaïr went to hand over his token, you retired onto the messily gathered pillows. You pulled a pillow against your chest, squeezing all of your annoyance into it.

"Word has reached me of your victory, Altaïr. You have my gratitude and my respect."

Altaïr sounded hardly pleased, as if the Rafiq's respect, everyone's respect, was to be expected, "Thank you."

There was a hint of laughter behind his words when he replied all too casually, "It is a shame that the other Assassins continue to hold you in such poor regard."

Altaïr spoke rather loudly, loud enough to make sure everyone including you heard his words, "I do not care what the others think of me."

No, of course he didn't. You tossed the pillow away, deciding that a walk would do you some good. You needed to be anywhere so long as it was far away from Altaïr and far away from anything Assassin related.

You raced across the cluttered buildings, leaping on top and over each varying structure, hardly paying any attention to where you were running. It was the run that mattered, the burn in your lungs as hot air forced its way down and the tingle in your palms as you scuffed them across stone walls and roofs. You shimmied and jostled up the great length of a tower, fingerbones nibbled on by the abusive climb, shins and knees aching with the promise of bruises.

You slipped inside once you were certain no guards were posted. You sprawled out onto the floor, arms stretched above you as your chest heaved down each breath of air. Up here the sounds of Damascus were faint and muffled and all you could smell were the earthy oils left behind by soldiers cleaning their metal gear and the soft sounds of an eagle flapping its large wings.

But even up here Altaïr haunted you. His words, his view of people, worried you. Somehow, no matter how foolish and stubborn he was, you would prove him wrong. You would show him that he was wrong. You would do everything in your power to protect him from his own arrogance. You hated it but you cared about him on a level you didn't quite understand.

You made your way back to the Bureau, the sun having already set and the coldness of the night drawing shivers from your panged muscles. You let down your hood and scarf, taking note that the parlor was empty and only the soft babbling of the fountain greeted you. Awkwardly, you entered the den, seeking out anyone who might still be around.

"Ah, there you are!" The Rafiq waved you over, his attentions pulling from the map laid out before him. "See? I told Altaïr that you had only stepped away for a moment."

You glanced around the den for the stern Assassin but he was no where to be found. "Where is he now? Boasting to the town crier's about his glory?"

He snorted then suddenly cleared his throat. "No, actually, your **glorious** friend went looking for you."

You glanced at him then did a double take when you realized he was being serious. "I'm sorry... Did you just say Altaïr went looking for me?"

The Rafiq grinned quite a bit, failing to subdue it as he focused failingly on the map before him. He dared a glimpse of your expression before finally stating, "You never did explain to me how you managed to tame our mutual friend."

You sauntered off, ignoring his question simply because you had no answer to it. Your thoughts were focused on what to do next. Altaïr was out there somewhere searching for you. Staying put was probably the better choice but you found yourself climbing up onto the crown of the building.

You looked around, turning until your eyes caught sight of Altaïr, his shoulders rocking fluidly as he marched towards you. "Altaïr." You decided to feign ignorance. "Where did you wander off to?"

He spoke nothing. He simply walked by and stepped through the opening in the trellis, dropping out of view.

You took down a deep breath, filling your chest with it. The return to Masyaf was going to be a long and dreary one. You dropped down into the building, finding that Altaïr was on his back shoving a pillow under his head, each of his movements stiff and forced.

You tried to smirk, to sound gentler that you felt, "Angry about something?"

He jaggedly coiled onto his side, the corner of the pillow beneath his head.

"Typical," you spat.

"You are goading me?" He sat up quickly, slamming his hands into the floor. "You would rather run away than face the truth that I am correct. Go, ask the Rafiq his thoughts on the matter."

"That's the problem, isn't it." You stepped past him towards the den, to find the Rafiq just to prove him wrong, then turned and face him. "Who are you to decide which person deserves the title 'innocent'?"

He lifted up onto his knees, fiercely pointing a finger at you. "We are killers and as killers we take lives to spare the many. We are eagles. We hunt down our prey."

You clenched your fists, feeling all of your anger swell behind them as you took a step forward. "I don't want to be an eagle then! You hunt like a mindless beast without taking the time and patience to consider your actions."

"You are a naive child!" He nearly growled through his teeth. "A child who understands very little of the world. You have spent the whole of your life protected by your small city where nothing ever happened."

You sucked down a quick breath, your brows diving together. "Nothing ever happened? Nothing! Ever! Happened!" You nearly rushed him, nearly pummeled him as each word daggered itself across your tongue, "I have seen lords slaughter hundreds in the streets! I have seen mothers smother their own children because they would rather see them dead than suffer! I have seen the poor waste away with hunger until their corpses littered the alleyways! I have seen the death of my own parents as they--"

Your parents.

Your breath caught in your chest. You gasped, finding the air tasting sour and thin, and you gasped again, sucking in each breath relentlessly. Your lungs simply couldn't get enough. Your whole body quivered, dropping you to your knees as you clenched your convulsing chest. Air! You needed more air. You couldn't breathe. It was agonizing, your lungs throbbing and your finger bones clawing at the tightening around your heart.

Altaïr hurried forward, wordlessly, his hands falling on your arms. He hesitated, almost fearful of touching you. He shoved you forward against him and your hands clung like talons onto the muscle of his neck. "Breathe," he muttered, "Focus on my breathing."

You fixated on his breath, the soft brush of it against your cheek as he exhaled, the rise of his chest as it pushed into yours. A large hand held the back of your head, pressing your ear closer to his mouth, your hood capturing each of his gentle words of encouragement. Another hand rubbed along the center of your back, keeping you securely planted against him.

"Not a word," Altaïr stated plainly.

There was a slight chuckle, the Rafiq likely having hurried to see what the commotion had been about. "I will pretend I did not see this but there are weekends when... I drink too much. Sometimes I say things..."

Altaïr tensed around you, his jaw clenching.

The Rafiq laughed as he shuffled out of the room.

The hand against the back of your head moved to the rim of your hood, slipping beneath until he could brush a finger across your cheek. "Better?" When you made no reply, both of his hands pushed back your hood.

You turned your head away, furious with him but mostly furious with yourself. It had been years since you had spoken of your parents. And then to have a panic attack in front of someone...? To have it front of Altaïr, the man who never did wrong, the man who had an endless supply of confidence.

Altaïr gently pinched your chin between his fingers, urging you to look at him.

You pulled away from his grasp, focusing on arranging the pillows nearby. "We have a long journey back to Masyaf." You lied down, folding onto your side. You stared into the pale stone of the wall as Altaïr slowly moved behind you.

He enveloped you, his body fitting against yours. His arm wrapped around your torso and his head rested on top of yours, cheek brushing against cheek. "I did not know."

"No. You didn't."

He remained quiet for the rest of the night and normally, his presence would have soothed you. But not tonight. You didn't want to close your eyes. You didn't want to rest. You wanted to stalk the streets, to remind yourself why you were fighting, and to hunt down any prey that dared show itself. You were a hunter... Altaïr was right in that aspect but that didn't mean you had to take lives so needlessly.


	11. Under the Hawk's Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your return to Masyaf leads to some unexpected news

You forced Altaïr and yourself to ride to Masyaf without stopping to camp. He made no efforts to protest when he realized there would have been no convincing you, your bitterness towards him still unfaltered. There had been little to no talking the whole ride, a day and a half's worth of clattering horse hooves and howling desert winds. You were still angry, furious, about having broken down in front of him. You weren't certain if you were angrier with him or yourself, and honestly it didn't really matter. You were angry. And you clung onto the anger.

Upon your return to Masyaf, you delighted in the idea of a warm bath. You couldn't remember the last time you had bathed or had eaten a decent hot meal. You were glad to leave behind the horses and to finally step past the large wooden gates, finding that you missed the simpler sounds of village life.

Unlike the city, children ran wild about the streets in playful glee. The market place was filled with softer voices rather than the desperate shouts of peddlers trying to feed their families. As you strolled through the center of town and up along the dusty paths to the fortress, you felt a heavy weight lift off of you that had shrouded your thoughts since that brutal argument with Altaïr.

You reached Al Mualim's tower, reveling in the cool shade that it provided, your body almost sighing in relaxation. "We managed to get back here without killing each other. I'm surprised."

"We should speak before we go any further." Altaïr turned and faced you in the tower's entryway. "The events that occurred in Damascus--"

"Forget those events." You glared at him, hoping he felt your resentment. "They didn't happen. For now, we focus on your mission and then after all of that, I want you to stay away from me for a few days."

He turned his head slightly, almost as if you had stuck him across the face.

"I tried to be understanding of you. But I don't have enough patience left, or enough compassion. So after our meeting with Al Mualim, I think it best you give me some time alone." You stepped further into the tower, into the faint flickers of lantern light as the evening glow of the sun withered away from the windows casting ominous reds and oranges across the pale bricks.

"What is it that you will tell Al Mualim?"

You climbed the great steps, a laugh far bitter than you intended huffed out of your throat. Of course that is what he was concerned about. He was worried you would speak negatively of him, that he would be cursed to remain a Novice forever. "Don't worry. I'm not interested in making you look bad."

"That is not--" He growled a sigh, his steps heavier as he walked further ahead of you.

Altaïr placed himself before Al Mualim's desk but the old man wasn't in sight. You looked about the balcony and the long walkways. You could hear Al Mualim speaking, his voice closer as he moved through the tall bookshelves. He was speaking with another from what little sight you could see of them, an Assassin garbed in white robes, his movements slow and matched with the old man. They finally moved out of the labyrinth of books, their faces familiar but one more familiar than the others.

You grinned madly. "Master." You nearly ran to him, nearly hugged him but you forced yourself into place and wiped away the grin. You bowed your head respectfully, knowing that he wanted to be a mentor first and a father second.

"My child." He stepped forward and snagged you into his arms, a soft but firm hug, catching you completely off guard. "Foolish. You deliberately disobeyed my orders." He let you go and turned his attention towards Altaïr, his face twisting with annoyance. "And you, bringing her here? What arrogance--" He pointed a tense hand as Al Mualim's chuckle caught everyone's attention.

"Saif, please." Al Mualim posted himself before his desk, his voice just as calm as you remembered him, "First thing first: your mission was a success?"

"Yes." You faced Al Mualim, your entire body tense as Saif stood tall between the two of you, his presence making you feel smaller. "Altaïr accomplished what you asked of him and with blind loyalty just as you desired. He is, in fact..." You glanced at Saif, your mentor and father, and lowered your head away. "Altaïr is too loyal. Your people are too--"

"Enough." Saif's voice, harsh and loud, jolted you a little. "Al Mualim, she knows the tenets and she follows them. But I have taught her a different way, a peaceful way that does not require bloodshed as often as others might permit. Pardon her words."

The old man glared upon you before stepping forward, his gaze nearly rattling your confidence. He was worn with age. His beard, white and frayed, pooled down his dark robes and his right eye was like a white opal, misted in blindness. "Was Altaïr worthy of my mercy?"

"Yes," you stated without a moment of hesitation and glimpsed at Altaïr as he lowered his head, his hood casting deeper shadows over his face.

Al Mualim gave a firm nod of his head, turning towards Saif. "She is yours for now."

"This arrived." Saif reached into his tunic and pulled out a folded parchment. "An eagle carried it to the Bureau and I thought, perhaps, it had been **from** you. I see now that it was meant **for** you."

You took the worn paper into hand and read the delicate handwriting. You read it twice just to understand its meaning. You paced away from their analysis, from their continued conversation. The people in al-Rahman were being taken, the hospitals were being used as a front to help smuggle slaves. You finally turned to your mentor. "I owe someone a favor in the city, a doctor who helped me with Altaïr."

Saif swept his attention to the Assassin who had been silent for the whole ordeal.

"I have to return. He would not have asked for my help if he didn't need it." You stuffed the parchment into your tunic, ignoring Saif's heated words as he stepped forward.

Saif, even with his hood shrouding his older face, had his brows pinched together and his eyes wide with fury. "You allowed yourself to owe a favor? What sort of favor is this? Your mission is in Acre. I will deal with this **favor**."

"Acre?" You glanced sideways at him. "I owe my allegiance to my city's people first. Not..." You glanced about the tower's cluttered tomes and books, to the old man and his pupil. "Not the Assassins."

"Altaïr's next trial," Al Mualim interrupted Saif, silencing your mentor who stiffly walked away. "His mission in Acre can wait. Altaïr will go with you instead and determine a course of action."

"No." You stepped away from them towards the balustrade. "This is my city. I don't want his help." You leapt over the railing, the balls of your feet taking the impact as you turned and marched for the door. Al-Rahman and all of her people were yours to protect, yours to keep safe.

Someone was close behind you. You expected Saif but when he reached your side, Altaïr snatched your elbow and forced you to face him. "You owe this favor in my stead."

"I am going home, Altaïr. You are an Assassin and have a task in Acre that requires you." You tried to soften your voice, to calm yourself but it was a difficult task. "You do not need me to oversee you and Al Mualim knows it." You walked away from him, not stopping even when he followed you out onto the veranda.

"You have not slept in days."

"Neither have you." You jostled down the curving staircase.

He halted in his steps, hands clutched to the railing as he watched you weave through the cluttered training grounds. You looked back at him, a strange need for a final glance that seemed to guilt you into it. His body stiffened suddenly and the action drew your attention towards Abbas who was fast approaching.

"You have returned!" Abbas lifted his arms. "No doubt, Altaïr kept you on your toes." He tried to pull you into a hug, not even considering the action inappropriate as he neared you.

But you were quicker, stepping back and lifting a hand. "I apologize but I must be on my way."

"Another mission?" Abbas looked you over, nodding in understanding as he did, then let his eyes fall on your waist. "The dagger I gave..."

"Ah." You looked down at your waist, forgetting completely that Altaïr had taken it and hid it away somewhere. You blushed and unwittingly flicked a glance to the tower steps. Altaïr was no longer perched at the entrance, your heart flittering sickly at the idea that you might have upset him. "It fell off and.. I will make it--"

Something strong shoved into your spine, forcing you to step away from Abbas. "She has other matters to attend to." Saif, his voice stern and harsh, spat at the younger Assassin. "You will excuse us."

Abbas grinned wickedly, "A few drinks sometimes, perhaps after your mission."

You walked ahead, ignoring Abbas' advancements. "Master, before you lecture me--"

"No, you will listen to me, child." Saif always walked with his head high, somehow taller than those around him. His steps were always gentle yet firm, quiet but always determined. "Keep your wits about you in the city. The Templars have a strong grasp on her now and it would be unwise to think the people are still a reliable source."

"I shall, Master."

"Al-Rahman is your city no longer." He sounded different, his voice somehow colder. "You are an Assassin now. This place is your home."

You didn't bother looking at him but when his steps slowed, you turned to finally face him, to look over his garments and weapons, the way he carried himself. He had hardly changed since you last saw him. "Was there anything else?"

"Altaïr." He tucked his hands behind his back before letting them fall awkwardly back at his side. "Who is he to you?"

You cocked your head, hardly understanding. "He is an Assassin."

"That is all?"

"Yes." You chuckled slightly. "What answer did you expect?"

He hummed his approval then walked back towards the fortress. "Safety and peace, daughter."

You watched him climb the earthen path, his movements slow and calm as he made each of his steps deliberately so. "And to you... Father."

What had he expected for an answer? Why did your heart ache at the idea that Altaïr was somewhere in Masyaf pacing with worry or jealousy? He had left when Abbas approached... which struck a painful chord in your chest. Why did you even care? It wasn't like Altaïr saw you as anything more than a slightly entertaining child.

You stormed out of Masyaf and mounted onto one of the closest steeds.

~:~

You rode hard into the desert, only stopping half-way through the night to rest. You found yourself cowering in a dilapidated building, the horse snorting just outside of the structure. You tried to relax, to close your eyes and sleep but... The desert night was cold. It was large and empty and foreboding. You climbed back onto the steed and rode into the night, continuing onwards until you finally reached home. You slipped easily past the city guards, batting your lashes and giggling sweetly at them.

You had missed al-Rahman. Returning home was like inhaling deeply a fresh breath of spring air laced with sweet flowers and crisp citrus. You walked through the marketplace, across the flourishing gardens, following the winding paths and the worn stone steps of the Poor District, and into the dark cluttered alleyway. Or, so it used to be cluttered. It had once been where most of the beggars gathered, eager for a supple amount of charity.

You sought out your usual contact. She wasn't in her spot, her 'home', and in her stead was a thin, bony man with threadbare clothes that barely clung to his scrawny form. You approached him, trying to sound less angry than you really were, "Where is the woman who used to beg here?" When he made no efforts to respond, you gathered his shirt into your grasp and shoved him into the wall. "She had a daughter and she lived here in this spot. Where is she now?"

He craned his head to the side, lips slowly pulling back to show his dark stained teeth. "I don't know any woman that used to live here. This spot was open when I got here, you see..." He finally stood up straighter with awkward and jagged movements. "But I do know that lots of people are missing, yes?"

You narrowed your eyes, judging his honesty. You took a step back and hoped that it convinced him to trust you. "Did you see a woman and child anywhere? Were they taken?"

"I see lots of people..." He scratched his head then gave a few nods. "Yes, I remember now. They were taken to that hospital..."

"The one in the Middle District?"

"No, no." He pointed north and nodded. "The new hospital. They says it's a hospital but it's not. No, they take people from there. They take them to the ocean and they ship them."

You reached into the folds of your robes and lifted a few coins into view. "Who takes the people? Do you know any names?"

"I only saw the doctor and his men..." He licked his lips, his eyes strongly locked onto the coin. "I don't know any names. But the hospital, that's where they take them."

You gave a slight bow of your head before giving him the coins. "Thank you. Safety and peace to you."

You skulked out of the alleyway, giving away what coins you could to the few beggars that remained. Each of their faces were new and different, each of them a stranger who had wandered into the alley while you were away. You feared the worst happened to those you had known, the beggars who had helped you once, the ones you were still in the process of helping... If you hadn't left the city for Masyaf, you could have stopped their abductions.

You found a tower in the north, climbed its peak, and took in all of the structures. Not much had changed in your absence. A few weeks was hardly enough time for anything drastic. But there it was, the hospital that the man had mentioned. You leapt forward, gliding downwards into the pile of hay, and stalked your way through the city. From the shadows of the buildings you watched the comings and goings, watched many people enter and very few people leave.

There he was, the doctor you owed the favor to. He was helping an elderly woman leave the clinic and clutched his hands nervously as he let her go. She hobbled her way down the streets, the crowd around her engulfing her small figure.

You used that same crowd to make your way over to him, to sneak your way to the bench next to the hospital door. You sat down, flicked a glance at him before muttering, "Doctor."

He glimpsed around, seeking out whoever it was that spoke. "Yes?"

"You helped my friend once. I am here to repay the favor." You didn't look at him, not even when you saw him jolt away from you. You kept your eyes ahead, pretending to take in the lovely view of the city. "You said that people were being taken. Are they being taken from your hospital?"

"We can not talk here..." He turned away from you, turned towards the door of the clinic and hesitated. "Meet me tonight... in the Illu-Uknu gardens." He hurried into the clinic, his head bowed down and his shoulders hunched up around him. He was scared. Someone had instilled that fear into him.

You stood up a moment later and walked the familiar path back to the Bureau, back to your childhood home. It was odd to think that you missed it, missed the sandalwood incense, the spices of your morning tea and the gentle purrs of the cat that greeted you for its meals. You had been so eager to leave al-Rahman that you never considered that you would want to return and never leave again.

And why should you leave? Why should you return to Masyaf? In just a few weeks of your absence you home had descended into chaos at the hands of 'Templars'. You should have been there to stop them, should have been there to protect the true innocents.


	12. Impatient Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon your return to Masyaf you are greeted with some unsettling news and returned to al-Rahman. However, you're city isn't in the best of conditions and you're left with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be absent from July 14th until around July 27th (I will be in a place without access to technology) I am, however, setting up a queue on [Tumblr](http://avawhiteraven.tumblr.com) and [Deviantart](http://arvaleeknight.deviantart.com)

You enjoyed the comforts of home probably more than you should have. You were planning on sleeping the rest of the day, to build up your energy for the hunt ahead but hunger took precedent, a meager meal of bread and fruits that you grabbed on the way home. You nibbled on the food and drank down a refreshing brew of tea, taking in the calm moment of being somewhere truly familiar again, a place where you could let down your guard and relax.

You lifted the ornate sea shell you had placed on one of the shelves and glanced over its iridescent surface. Your eyes swept across the collection of miscellaneous items, each one different than the next, having been placed there over time. Some items were stolen while others were given to you by eagle or beggar. You pocketed the sea shell, your thumb sliding over the smooth surface one more time.

When the time finally came, you nearly had to force yourself to leave the safe haven, to climb your way up onto the rooftop. It was a pleasantly silent night, a cool breeze that still held the lingering touches of warmth from the blazing sun. You drew your cowl and muffler up around you and slunk your way to the Middle District. Al-Rahman had always been known for its gardens, the lavish pavilions and columned walkways scattered amongst the vast beauty of the oasis.

You followed the main path of the garden, catching sight of the doctor who glanced over his shoulder at you. He nudged his head toward a courtyard, beckoning you to follow before glancing around skittishly. He paced its center as you approached then finally turned to you and stepped forward. He lifted clasped together hands, a prey and a plea. "I am sorry."

"It is alright. I forgive you." You hardly understood his worry or his guilt, even when he dropped down to his knees and bowed before you. You kneeled down with him, forced him to look at you. "There was a woman and a child who lived on the streets. They were taken."

He gave a few quick nods of his head, his eyes unable to meet yours. "Yes, yes, they were taken a few days ago. Her daughter was sick so she came to us..." He reached up and grabbed your wrists, his voice a harsh whisper, "They are still in a storehouse near the northern gate but they'll be shipped out of there soon."

"Thank you."

"No, listen to me." He drew close, his dark eyes locked with yours, his words barely above a whisper, "I am a weak man and they threatened to kill me. I am sorry... I was so frightened..."

You caught the movement of a shadow in the corner of your eye and hesitated. You focused all of your senses, drew upon Eagle Vision to make out the different figures that were placed between the decorative columns. An ambush, you realized, thinking back on how foolish you were to follow the doctor into the courtyard without checking.

You drew him close into a loose hug, mouth pressed to his ear. "Go to Masyaf and ask for a man named Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. No..." Altaïr would probably worry. He would be reckless in his rescue, coming alone and facing an army. You cared about him too much to endanger his life... "Ask for Al Mualim. Tell him what is happening here. He will know what to do."

His mouth opened to protest, to question what you asked of him.

You stood up and faced the man who was slowly stepping out of the shadows and into the illuminated courtyard. Eight of them on the ground, you counted quickly before locking your eyes on the ninth, their leader.

"He was eager to tell us about your existence," he drawled, a hand waving towards the crumpled doctor. "I knew there was an Assassin working in the shadows here. I wondered though... It took you some time to show yourself. I feared we'd never get to meet you."

You lifted your hands slowly to your hood and pushed it back, then gently pulled down the scarf. "You can have me. I will not fight you so long as the doctor walks out of here unharmed."

He scoffed, the edges of his lips curling.

Before he could protest or make some snide comment, you added, "That's what you want, correct? What is one doctor's life if you can capture me without losing any of your men?"

He tossed his head to the side as if he were considering it, his fingers fidgeting with the jeweled rings on his hand. "Remove all of your weapons, Assassin, then we shall speak."

You let your eyes sweep across the second floor, focusing on the pulsing energy of the archers above. Something seemed out of place as you counted them. Five, you considered as you unbuckled your sword and dagger and tossed them down. You disposed of your throwing knives then lifted your arms outward. "I shall keep my hidden blade until the good doctor is safely from here. You understand my caution."

He lifted a hand, motioning towards the cowering man. "Very well. Let him pass."

The doctor whispered roughly, "Thank you for your mercy." He staggered onto his feet, cowered when he passed the guards, then dashed from the area.

You closed your eyes for a moment, regretting how foolish you were. Why hadn't you slept before the meeting? Why hadn't you taken Altaïr's words to heart when he stated his worry? He was right and you were too angry to listen to him. You should have been more cautious and aware of your surroundings.

"Assassin," he cooed, making his way around the edge of the courtyard to take a good look at you. "If you comply with us there shall be no torture. Tell us all that you know of the Order and I will be more than happy to leave you unscathed."

You glanced back up at the archers, counting them again and again. There was only two of them now and... A third energy that silently eliminated the one to your right. "I don't submit that easily..." You let your eyes fall on the man, taking in his expensive silks and well groomed beard. "You never told me your name, Templar." Tahir, you hoped. You hoped desperately you could eliminate that man and be done with it.

He laughed, almost as if he had read your thoughts. "I am Namdar, a simple follower of Tahir's work here in the city." He flicked his fingers towards the knights posted on the ground level, finally finished with his assessment of you. "Perhaps you will meet him. Perhaps not."

You checked the second floor briefly, noting the last archer was dead and the helpful energy from before was waiting in the shadows for a signal. Altaïr, you hoped, your heart suddenly racing with adrenaline. You didn't understand why but you wanted it to be him. You wanted to see him again and take back some of the things you said.

You gave a nod of your head the moment a knight closed the space between you, an effort to grab your wrist and bind you. But the fools had forgotten about the hidden blade. You pulled your hand away from him and rammed back the hard bone of your elbow, aiming towards the soft cartilage of his throat.

The knight keeled over, wheezing noises strangling to break free as he clutched his neck. The other knights drew their swords, crowding around you, the remaining seven of them. Namdar was stepping safely into the walkway, safely away from you and anyone who might attack from above. He was smart enough to notice the archers weren't firing arrows.

You waited until a knight made his first attack. You twisted out of the way and used the momentum to make a quick strike from behind, the small blade in and out before the others even knew it happened. He dropped to his knees and the others staggered back, repositioning themselves around you to make up for one less sword. They thought moving would have helped them but a strike came from above, a blur of white and red dropping down onto two knights and killing them instantly.

You didn't have much time to register the Assassin but you knew it was him. You focused on the remaining four, your back to Altaïr, trusting in him fully to guard you. It was a quick dance, a flourish of parries as you finished off the remaining four knights together, their blood pooling at your boots. Namdar was no where in sight, having been clever enough to use the knights as a means to distract you.

You collected your weapons, reholstered them onto your body and ensured they were strapped down tightly enough.

"We should return to the Bureau." Altaïr walked passed you, his arm hooking around the back of your waist.

"No." You stood firm, turning to face him when he halted.

"You need rest. We both need it."

"There are people who need our help. People, soon to be slaves, that will be smuggled out of the city as we speak." You placed a flat hand onto his chest, feeling the quickening on his heartbeat beneath your palm. "If we can get into that warehouse... Altaïr, please."

You couldn't discern his expression, only knew that he was looking at you for a long moment of silence. "Very well. Where is this warehouse?"

"Come." You moved around him, hurried through the garden's labyrinth towards the north of the city. You could vaguely remember the storehouse, a large building that had once contained the city's armory. It laid abandoned for nearly a year when a new and larger armory was built closer to the Rich District.

The both of you posted yourselves on top of a building across the street, examined the structure and the high number of guards that were patrolling its base. There were far too many guards, this much you understood, and making it inside without alerting them would be a waste of time. People's lives, people's freedom, was on the line and whatever choice you made would determine their fate.

"We will require a distraction." Altaïr inched back away from the edge of the roof. "I will search the area for vigilantes."

"No." You chased after him, stepped in front of his path and grabbed hold of his upper arms to make him face you. "We don't have time. I can distract the guards long enough for you to get in there."

"It is too risky." He leaned forward, towering over you in an attempt to make you back down but you stood your ground. "They will outnumber you--"

"I know. But I also know that I can lose at least half of them along the way. I know these streets. I know this city." You let your hands fall to your side, allowed Altaïr to finally move.

"If this is your wish..." He slowly moved back towards the storehouse.

"They may have already been moved," you warned him, your stomach suddenly clenching with anxiety. "If so, then they took the path out of al-Rahman towards the sea."

"I will wait here until most of the guards are gone. I will kill the remainder." He glanced back at you for any objections and you had none. If they died... then so be it.

You moved to drop down into the alleyway, your feet landing softly on the hard dirt. You took a moment to breathe, to gather your senses and your courage. You rolled your shoulders as you moved between the buildings, stepping towards the five man patrol. You snagged two throwing knives from your belt, loosely moved them between your fingertips as you judged the growing distance. You threw one after the other, taking down two of the five but growing the ire of guards posted nearby.

One drew his longsword, slow and hesitant steps towards you. "Halt! You there!"

You flicked another throwing knife, the thin blade thrusting into his throat.

"Assassin!" s.  omeone added and that was enough to gather the rest of them, at least ten or more.

You raced through the streets, falling back on instincts rather than memory. If you thought too much about where you were going, you would hesitate and make the wrong choice. There was no room for hesitation, no room for error, as the number of guards chasing you grew. You knew from sound alone that there numbers were large and that they were on your heels. You needed to keep their attention at least until they were far enough away for Altaïr to sneak into the storehouse and release the people.

You nearly lost half the guardsmen when you were forced to skid and slip to a halt, your hands skimming across the rough surface of the ground as you regained balance. Fayez, captain of the guard and heavily armored spearman, stood in your path and cut off your chances of an exit. You raced for the shadows of a columned archway which lead to the courtyard of a lavish and wealthy home.

The courtyard was closed off, your thoughts were racing and your heart shuddered to a stop as you stumbled for an exit. You began the agile climb up the walls but you were too slow and the guards had been far too close in their pursuit. An arrow whistled then cracked against the stone, just mere centimeters from hitting your hand. You leapt further up the wall but a few more arrows were close behind, one nicking the side of your face. It startled you enough to make you lose your gripping on the thin crevice of stone. You dropped back down on to the marble floor, the long fall sending shockwaves that prickled up from your feet to your legs.

"Work together!" Fayez spun the shaft of his broad-bladed lance as he crouched for an attack. "All of us together now!"

Their attacks were quick, not at all hesitating, their swords clashing with your own. You parried and countered to the best of your abilities but their numbers were still too great. Fifteen. Maybe twenty. You used the columns of the courtyard to your advantage, striking forward the moment an opening came, slipping behind a column before there was a counterstrike. Even the long reach of the assegai spear could not work around your stone barriers.

They caught onto your game when only ten of them remained, a few of them moving together behind the columned walkway, the rest of the group beginning the tedious task of cornering you. But those brave enough to walk between the columns were easily picked off, killed one stroke after the next. You took out another guard with your longsword just as the guard captain was swiftly charging forward. His assegai plunged through your shoulder, cracking bones and sinking through muscle, shoving you back into the hard wall.

You screamed then gritted your teeth, fought through the pain as the remaining three guards and their captain closed in. You wrapped your fingers around the wooden shaft, growling through another surge of pain. You used the protruding pole to your advantage, slamming it into the guards that approached and knocking them to the ground. You fought your way into the open courtyard before killing two guards with your longsword. You dropped the sword, flicked the shortsword from your back and pitched it into a guard who was still getting to his feet.

Fayez charged you head on, putting all of his brute force behind the blow, but you were ready for him. You judged just where his attack would strike, aiming your wrist right where his neck would land, then pulled taught your fingers. The hidden blade clinked outwards, meeting with soft cartilage and a rapid pulse. The power behind his assault knocked you to the ground and he slowly crumpled beside you, indiscernible words hissing off of his tongue.

You staggered to your feet, a hand falling cautiously onto the shaft of the spear. You clenched your teeth as you readied yourself for the difficult task of removing it. You pulled quick and hard but despite your efforts and your strangled screams, it wasn't budging from place. The metal blade, wide at its base, was snagging itself onto mauled flesh and bones.

You inhaled a deep breath, bowing your head with exhaustion and blood loss, the air fragranced with the metallic tartness of death. You plodded towards one of the columns, cracked your neck, and readied yourself mentally. You would have to snap the pole if you planned on walking through the streets unnoticed. You gripped the shaft with both hands, twisted your body to one side, and then swung hard until the wood splintered against stone.

Your cries twisted with the crack of broken wood, hearing it reverberate through the streets and alleys. You dropped to your knees, trembling hands falling away from your drenched wound. You still had the daunting task of reaching back and tugging out the remainder.

You heard Altaïr call out your name, footsteps soft as they padded across the earth somewhere in the distance. He leapt down from the angled roof above, landing quietly beside you, and kneeled. His hands hovered over your glistening shoulder either too fearful to touch it or too busy assessing it for a plan.

"Those people..."

He moved forward, your unwounded shoulder against his chest, his hand slipping behind you. "They were already on the ship and gone." He wrapped his fingers around the pole while pressing your head beneath his chin. "Deep breath."

You barely had time to get anything in your lungs when he jerked the pole out, the sickening sound of wet flesh and blood. You growled through your teeth, your whole body cringing and quaking. "Where was the ship headed? We have to stop it."

"We have to get you assistance." He tossed the fractured spear, letting it clatter across the stone, and lifted you onto your feet.

"No, we have to help those people." Your legs were weak beneath you. You weren't even entirely certain they were there at all. You whole body felt weightless, nearly nonexistent as Altaïr continued to speak. His words felts so distant, muffled, as your vision blurred. "Altaïr..." Your body gave out just as his arms gathered you against him. "Al--taïr..."

"Focus on my words." He eased the both of you to the ground, leaned your back into a column, as he searched around for something. He grabbed a belt from one of the corpses and then began ripping cloth. "How old were you when Saif took you in?"

Saif... You tried to focus on something around you, anything... Altaïr's mouth, you focused on that, the way it quivered downwards at the edges, the beginnings of a stressed frown.

"Hold old were you?" He said again, pressing the cloth onto your wound.

You tried to bite down on a whimper, morphing it into a groan. "Six. I was six." You watched his lips part as he focused on his work, focused on pressing the cloth and wrapping the belt around you.

"Were you afraid of him?" He tightened the belt and a burst of pain flowered across your shoulder and sparked down your arm.

You threw your head back into the column, uncontrollable tears streaming. "No, I wasn't afraid."

Altaïr finished his task, his attention lifting to your face, a hand cupping against your cheek. His fingers felt course, worn from training and battle, rough from the hard labor. "You are strong. Stand with me." He hooked your arm around his neck and pulled you onto your feet. "When did Saif find you? How long were you alone?"

You struggled with each step, throwing your weight against him as he hauled you from the courtyard. "He... He found me that day. He was there when they died." You stumbled down the steps of the yard and out onto the streets but Altaïr's grip remained true, never letting you fall. "He was there," you said again, remembering that day after years of trying to forget it.

Saif had towered over you then, his hood thrown back to reveal his face, his expression hard and stern. His eyes had been so dark then. They had so little emotion to them. But you hadn't been afraid. He gathered you into his arms and carried you away from the bloody scene.

Altaïr took a quick glimpse of your expression before focusing on the path. "Can you make it to Masyaf? The doctors here can not be trusted."

You groaned and forced yourself to keep walking. "Yes. I can make it."

He picked up the pace, guiding you through the Middle District and into the Poor District. The fast march kept your thoughts on something other than the wound, on anything but the darkening of your vision and the difficulty of listening to Altaïr's words. He was speaking to you, asking more questions, but it was hard to focus on the words.

Altaïr stopped and sat you down onto a stone bench in the marketplace, the soft bubbling of the fountain behind you. He placed his hands on either side of your face, a gentle touch as he kneeled down and spoke. His lips moved but you weren't certain what he said. He walked away towards the city's gate and the row of four guards.

You were exhausted, your body swaying and you had just enough energy left to slowly lie down sideways on the bench. The cold stone contrasted pleasantly against the heat that seared every inch of your body. Your thoughts seemed so far away as if you were amidst the haze of a gentle dream, your entire body sinking into it.

"Not yet," Altaïr spoke softly, his hands moving your boneless body. "Stay awake a little longer. We are almost to the stables."

Your head felt so heavy, as if a rock were weighing it down as you tried to look at Altaïr. You looked down at your shoulder, finding the cloth that Altaïr had bound against the injury darkened with blood. The white stone of the bench was speckled with it, thin rivulets having streamed from your body across it to the ground.

He helped you onto your feet once more and hoisted your weight towards the open gate and the corpses that bled out onto the sandy earth, a trail of blood across all of al-Rahman. "Tell me about your favorite place in the city."

Your brows pinched together as your head fell backwards, seeking out one of the high towers but you were already outside of al-Rahman and the many towers were already behind you. "A minaret... in the Middle District..." With Altaïr's help you leaned against the wooden structure of the stable. "I can almost taste the sea water."

Altaïr led out one of the horses and checked the strappings of the saddle. "You enjoy the beach, then?"

You chuckled, your eyes slipping closed and your head leaning into the stable's column. "I've never been to the beach... I've never seen its waters. Have you seen it, Altaïr? Is it beautiful?"

Altaïr placed his hands on either side of your face, lifting your gaze until you met his. At some point he must have pushed back his hood, allowed you to see the face that few people ever caught sight of. He brushed back your hair and muttered, "We will see it." He tenderly pressed his lips against your forehead, the warmth of his body so close to yours. "First you must heal. Stay strong so that we may reach Masyaf." He guided you to the horse, climbing on first then awkwardly pulling you onto the saddle with him.

Air tangled itself inside of your chest, the pain suddenly too unbearable for you to breathe. When you made no efforts to move, Altaïr positioned your body against him, grabbed the reins and spurred the horse to race for Masyaf.

"Why did you come?" you asked weakly, your entire body melting against his, enjoying his soothing presence. Your eyes finally slid closed and your head rested back against the hard bone of his shoulder.

He spurred the horse faster, his reply nearly inaudible over the clattering of hooves and the howls of the wind, "I do not know."

You gave a breathless laugh, thoughts fading once more...


	13. The Hawk Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been gravely wounded and Altaïr must hurry with you to Masyaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting chapters 13-15 (Just got back home XD)

There was the brief glimpse of the sun, the knickering of a breathless horse, and the clattering of stampeding hooves. The wind tangled the tresses of your hair, whipping up the cloth of your hood and tunic, an earthiness of cypress, sand, and sweat. Your eyelids slipped over your vision as your body crumpled to the side, your head falling back to peer up at the endless sky of faded blue.

Altaïr's arms braced around you, his words muffled, "You will survive this."

You couldn't be certain of anything, the world felt too much like a dream, as Altaïr pulled taut the reins and skidded the quivering steed to a halt. It screeched and reared backwards, panting and gasping for air, but Altaïr balanced both his weight and yours masterfully. The horse steadied and calmed as he led it towards a small home, towards another horse posted in a fenced in pasture.

He leaned your weight into the hard muscle of the horse's neck as he jumped from the saddle to the ground. Altaïr carefully pulled your boneless body against his chest, your legs tossed over his arm. He kicked open the gate of the fenced pasture ignoring the man that stepped out of the small hovel to investigate.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I am taking your horse." Altaïr was unflustered, hoisting both you and him onto the new steed, your legs dangling over the side and your body pitched against his chest. He spurred the beast until its pace quickened out of the gate and onward towards the road.

"Wait! Hold on!" He shouted after you both but the horse was already speeding past him, the dust and dirt kicking into a fierce cloud.

The rhythm of horse hooves and snarled breathing continued, picking up as if it hadn't even ended. "We are nearly there." Altaïr looked down at your listless expression. He pulled up your hood, ensuring that it protected your face from the wind and the heat of the sun. "Hold on just a moment longer."

You leaned sideways into him, your cheek into his firm chest, but as you grew tired your head and body toppled backwards, Altaïr's arm the only thing keeping you from falling off. Even with your hood up the sun basked you in her glory, heat flourishing across your face in a harsh caress. An eagle soared high above, its wings silently beating as it cast a shadow over the both of you, darkness spillling over your vision. "Altaïr..."

"Almost," he assured. He called out to the horse, spurring it faster, its breathing becoming harsher as its hooves beat entrancingly across the hard skin of the earth. Drums, pounding and pulsing, your thoughts began to lull you into a harsh dream of racing horses and eagles screeching.

There was the sudden scream of a woman, a familiar scream that you had painfully endured as a child, a nightmare that repeated itself every night. They were the screams of your mother as she was cut down, her arms around you quaking and her hot tears pooling onto your cheek. She muttered words against your ear, a comforting lullaby before her warmth fell away, her soothing touch no more.

Your body froze and your eyes locked onto your father, too afraid to move and too afraid to breathe.

Your father shouted her name, distracted for too long and speared with a sword from behind. He crumpled to his knees, face distorted with agony and sorrow, but he didn't stop fighting. He held the sword firmer, spinning upwards onto his feet and sweeping the blade until it severed head from neck. He staggered towards his next target, reckless and desperate to defend his family and home. They fell silently and quick until their bodies littered the floor and their blood pooled at your feet, and endless sea of white and red. Your father tried to approach you but he dropped to his knees before he could, his eyes softening and his smile cringing.

It was then that the hooded figure approached, going down onto one knee before your father, his words too soft for your ears to understand. Your eyes peeled away from your father's anguished face to the hidden blade sinking deep into his chest. The stranger slowly rose to his feet and turned towards you, each of his steps paced and deliberate, his hands reaching up to flick back his hood. He was stern, expressionless, and cold, young but somehow battle-hardened. "Come with me, child. There is nothing we can do for them now."

You made no replies, spoke no words or fought against him as he reached down and gathered you into his arms. He was warm, smelling of tart blood and smokey incense, his arms around you a tight embrace. Tears trailed down from your eyes, to your cheeks and down your neck as your parents grew further away from you, your father's smile fading and his eyelids drooping lazily.

You awoke to your body being jostled, your name rolling off of Altaïr's lips. You pried open your eyes to glimpse the village and then again to see the large estate of Masyaf castle. You shuddered and quaked in Altaïr's arms, somehow freezing cold beneath the intense heat of the desert sun.

"We are home," he whispered, his voice harsh but somehow gentle. He carried you through the training grounds and the gardens towards the sleeping quarters. Altaïr snarled at a passing servant, "Fetch me the doctor." He held you tighter against him, avoiding the other servant that approached to offer his assistance. "I can carry her just fine."

"Of course, Altaïr." He bowed his head but followed at his side all the same. "She is ghostly pale. Is all of that her blood?"

You eyes slid closed as you entered the castle, the soft shadows soothing your vision and making it easier to fall asleep. You didn't open your eyes again until Altaïr was gently laying you down onto the bed, hovering over you with blood drenched robes. Your blood, you realized, following the trail it left behind. He stepped back and allowed another to approach, a doctor you assumed.

The doctor spoke to you, his mouth moving, but you couldn't quite make out the muffled words. And even if you did understand, you doubted that you could have made a proper reply.

Altaïr simply watched, eyes locked with yours as the doctor set to work. Golden brown eyes, dark and rich as honey and amber, worried and fearful as he stood there unmoving and useless. There was nothing more that he could do and you were certain it pained him to have no control over the situation.

Finally, when you couldn't resist, you closed your eyes once more. You weren't entirely sure for how long. It could have been seconds or perhaps weeks but when you opened them again, Altaïr was standing by the window, watching you sternly from beneath his hood, the soft light of the moon casting him in shadow.

"Doctor," he stated and a man hurried forward.

"Can you hear me?" He sat down on the edge of your bed, moving until he could place himself between you and your line of sight to Altaïr. "Are you in any pain?"

You took time to assess yourself, to see if you did feel pain but it was too difficult to think clearly. This was your room, you considered, slowly glancing about the barren space. Pain, you tried to focus as your vision swept downwards to your shoulder. It was bandaged, the cloth was wrapped expertly across your entire torso. No, you couldn't feel any pain... You couldn't really feel anything.

"You lost a great deal of blood," the doctor added. "We had to burn the wound."

You swallowed harshly, your throat coated in dry sand. "Water."

He grabbed hold of the clay cup from the table nearby and pressed it to your lips. You drunk down the cold liquid, feeling it leave a cold path through your body. The doctor continued to speak, watching carefully, "The herbs I gave you, they will dull your pain but also your mind."

You rested your head back once you'd drunk your fill. Before he could explain anything else, before you could ask any questions, your eyelids slid over your vision. You were too tired and too exhausted, the world around you spinning away until there was nothing, not even yourself.

You opened your eyes to the bright light of day as it cast orange hues onto the wall across the window. In a chair beside your bed sat a man, a book held in his hand, his eyes slowly skimming the page. You muttered weakly, remembering the man's name, "Rauf."

He jolted in his seat, looking at you and suddenly smiling and setting aside his book. "Good, good. You are awake."

"Where..."

"Masyaf," he blurted, moving from his seat to sit on the edge of your bed. "Altaïr brought you here after a skirmish in al-Rahman. Do you remember any of it?"

"Yes." You rolled your eyes away, eagerly searching for him. "Where is Altaïr?"

He gave a nod, humming before replying, "Al Mualim sent him on a task in Acre. He sent me here, Altaïr did, to watch over you until his return. He should arrive back within a matter of days."

"Acre..." You remembered that mission and rolled your eyes to the window, remembering how Altaïr had stood there and watched you. You finally returned your gaze to Rauf, looking over the man as he waited for some response. "Help me up. I need some fresh air."

He laughed hesitantly, getting to his feet and backing away. "No, no. I don't think so. If Altaïr returned to find out that I allowed harm to come to you..."

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to sit up onto your elbows. When he saw how stubborn you were being, attempting to rise up out of bed, Rauf hurried forward and eased your legs over the side of the bed. It wasn't until then that you realized how naked you were. You pulled the thin sheet over your lap, glad that the bandage covered your upper torso.

"Your clothes," he muttered, quickly turning away to search for them and you swore you saw the man blush. "Here. I have found some." He returned with a bundle in his arms and, almost fearful of touching you, tossed them into your lap.

You painfully worked your way into your shirt and Rauf, with shaky hands, helped pull the hem down. You chuckled at his sweet modesty, delighted to see it. "You can meet me outside."

His mouth flew open but his words were caught in his throat. He simply spun on his heel and evacuated the room, closing the door behind him.

You were slow getting on the rest of your vestments, never realizing that having only one usable arm would cause so much trouble. You sat down once you were fully dressed and took a few moments to breathe and regather your composure. You flexed the hand of your wounded arm, finding it difficult to fully curl your fingers. Healing would take time but you weren't going to let anyone see it. You didn't want the others to take pity on you or see any amount of weakness. You were taught to be strong, taught to endure through the difficult times.

Rauf waited impatiently outside, sparking a little to see you on your feet. "You are certain you wish to walk around? You really should be resting some more."

"I am." You stepped forward, each one slow and precise as you followed the vast hallways and winding staircases, thin slitted windows only allowing slithers of sunlight to enter. Candles and lanterns were all you had to light the way until you reached the tall archway of the garden, delighting in the fresh floral scents and the soft touch of a cooling breeze.

Rauf stood at your side, hands tucked behind his back as he looked over at you. "I must say that I've never seen Altaïr so concerned for someone."

"You said that he left for Acre." You strolled forward along the stone paths of the gardens, making your way towards the center.

"Yes, yes."

"How long was I ill?"

He turned his head to look out over the bushes and fountains, following easily at your side. "A mere week, I believe. It was not for long."

You sat down onto the bench, slowly bending your stiff arm into your lap. "What were the doctor's orders?"

"Rauf, would you excuse us." Abbas approached from the other side of the garden from the training grounds, wide and eager grin on his face, his steps calm but determined. He turned his attention to you, "May we walk for a moment?"

Rauf stood in front of you, making it impossible to reply or to stand up. "Altaïr tasked me to watch over her."

Abbas chuckled, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "It will only be for a moment. Do you think I might kill her? I only wish to speak. She is a free woman, yes? Free to speak to anyone she so pleases."

His eyes lowered to you and then he turned and walked away, posting himself at one of the many arched entryways of the gardens. Standing where he was, Rauf watched diligently like a mother hen and if he could have, he wouldn't have blinked the entire time.

You finally focused on Abbas as he slipped an arm around your back and helped you to your feet. "Abbas, I know why you're here..."

"The tone in your voice tells me you are not delighted about it." His smile remained unwavered, his arm gentle so that if you chose to pull away you could. He took hold of your hand, lifting it so that he might help balance you as you walked with him.

You slowly followed the path through the garden away from its center,and Rauf's watchful vigil. "I do not want to hurt your feelings. But I have no interest in--"

"You love Altaïr. Yes, I know this already. But I hoped that you would surely see him for what he truly is." His steps slowed as you reached the farthest point from Rauf. "You do see it, don't you?"

You should have denied your love for Altaïr but you weren't quite so certain what the truth was. Did you love Altaïr? Your brows pinched together, eyes roving over the steadiness in his expression. "I see only you speaking ill of him."

"You know for yourself that Altaïr took the life of an old man." He moved to stand before you, mere inches away as his hands gripped your upper arms. "Do you think it the first time that he has taken the life of an innocent? Do you think this is the first time that he has gone against the Creed?"

You turned your head away, desperate not to believe his words.

"Al Mualim plays favorites with Altaïr, praising him only because he saved the master's life." Abbas leaned so that he might get a better view of your face, so that you might see him in return. "I am only trying to warn you. I care for you and only wish to keep you from getting hurt."

"Altaïr regrets his actions," you spat, hardly in the mood for the conversation.

"Does he truly? He will commit his crimes again. For he has done it many times." Abbas sighed, shaking his head with resignation. "He is not worthy of you."

"I will determine that for myself." You stepped away, sweeping your gaze with his, and marched along the path back to Rauf. "I am ready to go inside."

Rauf walked with you up the stone steps in silence until you reached the top. "I would not trust Abbas. He has been jealous of Altaïr since childhood."

You looked back at the man, finding him honest and kind hearted. Years of training as an Assassin, years of studying people told you as much. Rauf was a good person. But he also seemed to blindly revere Altaïr, just as many did. You could not trust either Abbas or Rauf, their opinions far too biased.

You leisurely walked the halls, mulling over your thoughts as you did. You trusted Altaïr, even if you hated to admit it. The man had his flaws but he had saved your life, had watched over you, had ensured your safety. You would make your own analysis of Altaïr and ignore the words of others. Or so you would try. And you would try your hardest to guide Altaïr away from violence, to help him see that there is more to the Creed that just assassinating targets.

You ambled into the sunlit room towards the bed, pleased to finally have a moment to rest after all of the walking. Perhaps it hadn't been the best of ideas to exhaust yourself but you had needed that fresh air.

Rauf closed the door behind him but he stepped no further into the room. "Perhaps I should grab us dinner. You have not had a proper meal in some time."

You stood at the bed, turning to face the eager youth. You weren't hungry but you didn't want to deny him the pride that came with helping another. "Thank you."

Rauf beamed, bowing his head and opening the door to leave. Someone stood before him but you couldn't quite make out who. "Altaïr. You have returned sooner than I thought." He stepped aside, letting the hooded Assassin stalk past him.

Altaïr stood between you and Rauf, the hood obscuring most of his face but he seemed to have his eyes on you, staring silently. "Leave us."

"I was just going out to fetch some dinner. Should I bring you some as--"

"No. I shall take care of her meal myself."

Rauf gave a slight nod of his head before closing the door behind him.

You smirked and rolled your eyes. "Charming as ever, Altaïr."

His boots pounded against the floor as he aggressively paced the foot of the bed. "We have known each other for some time. You have saved my life and I in turn have saved yours. We are both skilled warriors and mature adults."

You stood there, not quite ready to sit down, not with Altaïr so restless as he was. You couldn't ever remember a time where he acted this way. He seemed furious and yet anxious at the same time and you found yourself walking towards him. "Yes..."

He flicked a glance to you, briefly, before returning his attention ahead. "We have had our arguments and... misunderstandings."

"Altaïr." You placed a feather soft hand onto his arm as he walked by which halted him mid-step. "What are you trying to get at?"

Altaïr stood there for a moment, his entire body rigid and for the longest moment you weren't certain he was even breathing. He turned sharply, his hands enveloping your face and his mouth dropping onto yours. It was a quick and heedful kiss, unpracticed as your noses pressed, his head slowly tilting, his lips gentle but dry from the desert heat.

Your face caught fire, a blush seering until your eyes watered. Your breath was tangled in your lungs, even when Altaïr pulled away and examined silently your response.

All of your years, days, and hours had been devoted to being a secret onlooker that guarded over the city of al-Rahman.

Altaïr was your first kiss, that night in the desert when he had brought out your fury and teased you jokingly. This kiss was somehow more intimate than his previous one, somehow scattering your thoughts until words no longer existed. He was being softer, an affectionate show of love that you hadn't expected from anyone.

Altaïr briskly made for the door. "I will grab some food."

"Altaïr." Your heart seemed to clench and swoon all at once, sickening you until you thought you might faint.

He waited only for a moment and when you took too long to find the words, he opened the door and stepped through it, disappearing from sight. You stumbled to sit down onto the bed, your breath hushing passed the tingle of your parted lips, a smile curling.

You groaned, rolling your eyes closed. What must he think now after your lack of reply, your lack of delight? You had been so caught off guard, so unfamiliar with the situation that you hadn't any words to say. But Altaïr had kissed you, showed that he returned feelings towards you.


	14. The Story of a Hawk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find out more about yourself and grow slightly closer to Altaïr :D

You waited for Altaïr to return, each second elongating into hours and your stomach tightening until you found yourself clenching hold of it. When the door finally opened and you jumped up onto your feet, Rauf stepped in with a timid but joyful smile. He lifted up a plate of food, softly mumbling, "Altaïr asked that I bring you this."

You looked to the empty doorway behind him as he walked further into the room, expecting to see the Assassin following grudgingly behind but he was nowhere to be found. "Where is Altaïr now?"

He set down the plate of food, rolling eyes his downwards to focus on anything but the question. "You should eat before your meal gets too cold."

"Rauf." You took hold of his wrist which drew his gaze. "Where is he?"

"He said he wanted to be alone--"

You darkened your tone, seriousness gripping hold of you, "Where, Rauf?"

He straightened up and walked away, hands fumbling before him. "In the foremost tower. He goes there sometimes to clear his thoughts." He blurted when he saw you rush for the door, "Please, don't go. He'll be furious to know I told you."

You weren't strong enough to go looking for Altaïr, you knew that already. You were feeling ill again, the clammy touch of a sickness settling into your bones, but you had to find Altaïr and speak with him. You had waited for him, waited to explain your feelings to him. He needed to know that you felt the same way. Perhaps it wasn't sickness but anxiety, a deep unsettling fear that Altaïr would misunderstand your feelings towards him.

You had to walk through the gardens and into the training grounds to reach the base of the tower. It was the same tower where you had to persuad Nizar you were capable of performing the leap of faith. He started you small, unconvinced, working your way higher until you reached the apex post. You remembered it had been a difficult climb even without being wounded or ill.

"You should not be walking about." Abbas was at your side, hooking your arm around his neck before you even had the chance to utter a single sound.

You tried to pull your arm away but his grip was stronger than yours. "Thank you, Abbas, but I'm fine. Really." You proved yourself wrong not being able to fight against him, to not stand on your own.

"Altaïr!" Abbas nearly growled the name and you jolted your attention towards the cautiously moving Assassin. "You would allow her to roam so freely in this state? A mere look at her and you can tell she is too sick."

"I am not..." You took down a slow breath. Your fluttering heartbeat and swooning stomach told you otherwise. You weren't just ill from the remnants of a fever, and anxiety, but you were suffering the effects of realization. You were in love with Altaïr. You loved him. "I'm fine. Really."

Altaïr's steps were slow and his eyes were locked on Abbas, watching him as he spoke coldly, "I shall take her from here. She was ordered to remain in her room."

"She is stubborn," spat Abbas as if he dared to pretend to know you so well.

"I am aware." Altaïr stepped forward, almost challenging Abbas with the stance. "I shall take her back to her room to rest."

You felt a shiver slip down your spine. They were staring at each other, bodies tense and fists curling at their side. They were two predators, two hunters, preparing for the strike.. You would have to think quickly, diffuse the both of them before they became out of hand. "Nizar!" you shouted towards the sparring ring, twisting your way out of Abbas' distracted grasp and weakly shuffling over to him.

"If it isn't my favorite student!" Nizar lifted his arms, approaching you and grappling you into a brotherly hug. "I heard you were wounded in your last scrap. I thought you were better than that."

You smiled faintly. "To be fair there were at least fifteen or more of them."

He scoffed as if that were hardly an excuse. Then his eyes softened, glancing over your parlor. "Should you be out of bed so soon? You do look a bit... pale."

"Sickly," you jokingly corrected with a smirk.

"She is returning there now." Altaïr slid a hand down your back, following the curve of your spine, nearly pulling a moan from you. "If you would pardon us, Nizar." He wasted no time, shoving you into his chest and sweeping an arm against your knees until he carried your weight.

You swallowed any frightened sound that bit the back of your throat, wide eyes on Nizar as he pressed his lips against the threats of a grin. He gave a bow of his head and watched Altaïr carry you back towards the sleeping quarters. You caught a glimpse of Abbas' hard-pressed glare and tension in his white-knuckled fists.

If you were embarrassed or afraid then, it was minor compared to the feelings that assaulted you when you caught sight of Saif standing on the veranda of Al Mualim's tower. Your master, your father, glowered, his eyes narrowing and his brows lowering. It was the look he usually gave you when he caught you in a lie. He was already mounting together a heated lecture.

You hadn't technically lied to him, you considered as Altaïr stepped into the cool shadows of the castle. At the time you didn't see Altaïr as anyone other than an Assassin who annoyed you for his own entertainment. Perhaps you did realize your affection towards him but hid it as best as you could. How else would you explain your loyalty to him from the beginning?

You melted against Altaïr, letting your head rest against the firmness of his shoulder. He smelled of dry desert sands and musky sweat, the lingering traces of refreshing mint and star anise. If you could fall asleep and wake up to him every day of your life, you would never be displeased. But life was never quite so simple and a certain feeling of anxiety fell back over you.

Altaïr set you onto your feet just outside of your bedroom. He pushed the door open, motioning you inside. "What were you doing? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

You shuffled over towards the bed, still forming the words, the speech you had worked on was suddenly too distant. You sunk down onto the mattress and pressed your back into the wall. "I wish to talk about what happened." You hesitated again but forced yourself to speak it outloud before he could leave. "Our kiss--"

"It was a mistake." Altaïr posted himself by the window, his eyes looking out over the village of Masyaf. "We are Assassins. There is no room in our lives for such emotions."

His words halted your breathing, stabbed into your chest, but you blurted as quickly as you could, "You're right..." You focused on the plate of food before you, a gathering of fruits and roasted meats. "That is why tomorrow morning I must return to al-Rahman."

Altaïr went rigid then rolled his shoulder back, as if rolling away a sudden bout of tension. "You are not yet healed enough for such a task. You could barely walk--"

"If I don't return and save that city then who will? The Assassins? They abandoned my home long ago. They would cause more trouble than good." You dropped the plate onto the bedside table. "People lost their lives and their freedom when I left... I never should have abandoned them."

Altaïr's boots pounded into the floor as he stepped forward. He snatched hold of your chin and forced you to look at him. "The Templars took your city. You are not to blame for its condition."

You watched the anger that thinned his lips fade away, softening them and you found yourself breathy and warm, your own lips parting as you thought about the kiss from before. It had been such a quick kiss, an unsatisfactory touch that had ended too soon.

Altaïr let go of your chin and straightened himself to focus on the conversation. "We will speak--"

Not quite ready to lose the opportunity, you leapt onto your feet and clumsily captured his mouth with yours. Your fingers curled around the hem of his hood, tugging him closer so that the kiss would last longer than before, your toes curling against the edge of the bed.

Altaïr took your weight into his arms when you leaned against him, nearly losing your footing. He settled your feet onto the floor, guiding you back into the wall and pinning you there with his hips. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, coaxing them to part until he could slip a slow, tentative tongue inside, tasting of rich and refreshing spices. His hands encompassed the curve of your neck and thumb stroking the smooth bone of your jaw.

Your hands slipped beneath his hood, tangling fingers into the soft tufts of hair, a moan from him encouraging each stroke across his scalp. Altaïr tilted his head, pulling his lips away only for a moment, before settling them again. His hand skimmed the curve of your spine before pressing your backside forward, your hips meeting with his. A wave of warmth bloomed across you, alighting your face down to your center, each loving kiss sparking it deeper.

It was difficult to pull away even when the door clattered open, the loss of his lips leaving you shivering and cold. Altaïr stepped to the side, head tilted away as Saif scrutinized the both of you.

"Leave us. I must speak with my daughter."

You smoothed your expression and steadied your breath. You watched nervously as Altaïr strolled the space forward, moving passed Saif to enter into the hallway. He hesitated once outside, the door closing away whatever he might have said or done. You turned your attention to Saif, his anger trembling him down to the bones.

"You dare lie to me? Altaïr is an arrogant child! He is a traitor to the Creed!" Saif marched forward and with each step, his fury shaded his face a deeper red. "He took the lives of innocents and showed no remorse for it! I taught you better than that! I taught you better than him!"

You balled your fists, nails biting into your palm. You spoke calmly, as calmly as you could manage in the situation, "He may have not showed his regret but he does feel it."

"Do not dare speak for him, child. It is because of him that you left al-Rahman in the first place! You were to never enter Masyaf. I hid you from the Assassins for a reason." He turned his rage towards a small table, furiously shoving it over. "He is the reason you nearly died at Templar hands!"

"Altaïr did not put a spear through me. Fayez did that." You walked forward and closed the distance between you and him. "It was my own impatience that did this. He wanted to return to the Bureau. But I was determined."

Saif towered over you, leaning forward in an attempt to intimidate you. "He broke the tenets. He went against his orders."

You spat, losing your well placed composure, "How are you any different than him? Were you not the one to train me and hide me away for most of my life?" Your teeth clenched before you growled, "The blade you sunk into my father's chest... Was it a show of mercy or assassination? You are just as much a traitor as him!"

"How dare you?" His hand struck hard, searing pain across your cheek and jaw, stunning the breath in your lungs. Saif backed away in shock, a long moment of silence falling between the both of you. "I have never struck you before... I don't know what came over me..." He stepped forward, an attempt to comfrot you.

You lifted up your hands to halt his efforts to hold you. Your fingers patted the stinging heat along your cheekbone. "Do you still think yourself better than him now, father?"

"My child," he almost pleaded. Saif slid a hand down his face and turned towards the window. He shoved back his hood and let the beams of sunlight shine across his features. "Forgive me... for striking you and... for taking away your childhood."

You sat down wearily onto the bed, lifting your gaze to examine the profile of your father's face. "My parents... Who were they really?"

Saif tucked his hands behind his back and paced across the other side of the room. "They were Templars. I had the unfortunate task of hunting them down and purging the city of any Templars who might threaten its peace."

"Templars." You clasped your hands together, examining how blistered and worn they were from a lifetime of fighting and training. "What crimes did they commit?"

Saif stiffly sat down into the chair beside the bed. He was looking past you at distant memories, long forgotten memories you could only imagine. "The crimes of most Templars. They were greedy opportunists and used what means they could to gain and keep power. The people suffered under their influence but little could be done about it."

"So the Order sent you..."

"Yes. I gathered information throughout the city and left it at the Bureau. From there, others were called in, sacrificing their lives so that I might make it passed the army of guards your father had hired. He himself was a ferocious warrior."

You spoke softly, discouraged, "Don't call him my father." You walked towards the window and looked out over the sandy browns and specks of lush greens.

Saif gave a bow of his head, face as neutral as always. "By the time it was over, he was too weak to fight me and... his wife was dead at your feet."

"Why did you take me in? Why bother training me?" You turned sharply on your heel to stare down on him, to discern any emotion that might linger.

"At first I hadn't planned on it. I took you to Masyaf with the idea that I might leave you to live as some farmer's daughter..." His eyes seemed glazed over, recalling every detail of that moment. "I regretted leaving you without parents, having taken their lives so easily."

You clasped your hands, fumbling them together. "What changed your mind?"

"You were a prodigy." He finally looked at you. "After we arrived, after a hot meal and bath..." He chuckled a little. "I had grown attached to you in those few days. I thought to raise you as my own. Al Mualim did not see it as I did. He told me to find you a home. He convinced me that I would never be around to raise you."

"And then?" you muttered when you saw him stare off into the distance, thoughts clouding him for a long moment.

"I tried to explain to you that I needed to leave you with an old woman. You asked me why I was nervous, why my heart was racing..." He narrowed his eyes at you, his chin lifting higher. "I asked you how you could possibly know that. You just shrugged, told me you could sometimes hear and see things. Your parents had told you to keep it a secret." He leaned forward, eyes on his open, aging hands. "There was only one other I knew that had such a gift. Altaïr. And he was a few years older than you. He had years of training that honed his gift."

You almost laughed, almost scoffed. "Eagle Vision? That's why you took me in?"

"I returned to al-Rahman. The Bureau sat empty, making a fine home. The city was half destroyed and useless to the Order. The Bureau even more so." He grumbled, getting to his feet. "I trained you to follow a different path, to seek out peaceful means. Your parents were Templars but you are not them. You are..." Saif cautiously stood before you and placed his hands onto your shoulders. "You are my daughter. I may not be the best of fathers--"

You embraced him, a hug with him rarer than anything. "You are better than most."

Saif all but scoffed. "This Altaïr..." He growled the name, hating the idea of having to speak it. "I disapprove. He is not worthy of you. But I suppose there is little I can do about it. You are too old for my lectures. Although, I may just kill him and be done with it..."

"Master..."

He chuckeld, a rusty laugh. "I am only... half-joking."

You pulled from the hug and hid your grin from his as best as you could. "In the morning I will return to al-Rahman."

He grumbled silently, shuffling towards the door. He lifted a hand to his lips, mulling over your words then allowed it to fall away. "Wait a few more days. You are no use to its citizens in your current state."

You wavered but slowly bowed your head. "Saif... Father... I am--" You tilted your head away.

"I know, child. I feel the same." Saif stepped out of the room, leaving you to mull over the exchange of words and the kiss from Altaïr. You laid back onto the bed, mindlessly looking over the details in the ceiling. What now? You had to return to al-Rahman. You had to find that ship or at least where it sailed to. You had to wait a few days to recover and that alone might drive you insane. A few more days for the ship to sail further and further away.

And there was Altair. Could you convince him to come? Should you? He had other tasks, names that Al Mualim wanted him to assassinate. No, he was right. You both were Assassins and you had obligations. You would simply have to journey without him. You would find the ship and your people alone. But you would return here, return to Masyaf and to him.


	15. A Tangled Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahem, Warning... *coughs* sexual content

You must have fallen asleep, stirring yourself from a dream to find Altaïr standing at the window and his eyes looking out across Masyaf's immensity. You knew what he saw. You had memorized the specks of faded grass weaving between the mudbrick homes and the distant streak of a pale tan desert skirting along the horizon. But even as Altaïr looked out upon it, his mind seemed to be focused on other things, on memories and thoughts that were bothering him.

You sat up in bed, pretending you didn't notice the concern displayed across his expression. "I half-expected you to send Rauf back in here."

Altaïr let his attention linger on the window a moment longer before walking the small expanse of the room. "Why do you say that?"

"You avoided me before..." You rose a brow when he briefly glanced over at you, the absence of his hood making each of his features all the easier to admire. "Or is there less reason to avoid me after the second kiss?"

Altaïr stopped at the foot of the bed, sweeping his attention upwards to your face. "We are both Assassins. That has not changed."

You nodded your head, suppressing the smile that was beginning to surface. "You're right." You gathered your belts, awkwardly strapping them down into place, the muscles in your arm and hand working slightly better than before. "Since we are both Assassins and... both skilled warriors who are capable of taking care of themselves... you won't mind if I leave."

"Leave?" Altaïr didn't sound pleased at all as he watched you slowly stand and shuffle for the door. "And where do you plan on leaving to?" He placed a firm hand on the door, preventing you from opening it.

"A bath." You rose a challenging brow. "I haven't had one in some time and..." You shrugged a shoulder. "Well, I'd like one before I return to al-Rahman."

"You want to return to al-Rahman? Fine." Altaïr grabbed hold of your arm, threw open the door, and pulled you through the halls and down the stairs. "First, prove to me that you could handle yourself."

"I don't have to prove it." You struggled against him but he held the arm that was weakened by the spear. "Your permission isn't necessary, remember? We are just two Assassins."

Altaïr halted just before stepping out into the gardens. "Yes. Two Assassins that have looked out for one another." He drew up his hood, pulling it down until you could no longer see the pinching of his brows. "You think yourself so capable then best me in the ring." He walked off towards the training grounds without bothering to wait for your reply.

"Fine." You shouted at his back, "I will!"

Along the walk towards the dusty training area, you realized how foolish of a mistake you were making. Your arm was still sore, gelatin and listless, barely having regained its strength. If you held your sword, it would be a miracle. But you couldn't allow Altaïr to win an argument. He was already arrogant enough as it was. Losing to him would make things so much worse.

"Back already," chimed Nizar who had the widest of smiles. "I imagined I wouldn't see you for at least a few more days."

Altaïr pointed towards the sparring Assassins. "Leave. This area is needed."

Nizar huffed, tossing his attention towards his students. "The last I checked, Altaïr, you were still only two ranks above Novice."

Altaïr stepped towards him, jaw clenched tight as he spat, "Your favorite pupil has decided she is fit for combat." He threw a hand towards you as you slowly made your way over. "She would risk her life out of stubborn pride."

Nizar tsked at you with a shake of his head. He waved his hands towards the Assassins in the ring, motioning for them to leave. "Go clean up your armor and retire for the evening. We shall continue our lesson in the morning."

Altaïr leapt effortlessly over the railing into the ring and drew his longsword, spinning its weight in his hands to loosen his muscles for the upcoming trial.

You looked pleadingly to Nizar but he wasn't having it. He knew just as well as Altaïr that you weren't ready to leave. And he only shook his head before slowly wandering off, muttering about how he wouldn't watch you disgrace yourself. You looked away from both of them, torn between the need to prove yourself and knowing full well that realistically it wasn't going to happen. You had to try, at least, didn't you? You couldn't let Altaïr have his way too easily.

You climbed up the wooden fence, tossed your leg over, and climbed down the other side. "If I win this battle..." You pulled the shortsword from its holster on your back then took the longsword into your good hand. The shorter blade was lighter but in your weakened grasp, it was nearly impossible to keep hold of. "I get to do whatever I please."

"And if I win?" Altaïr twisted his sword a few more time, letting the blade cut into the air before taking his fighter's stance.

You rolled your shoulders, painfully swallowing the groan that nearly broke free. "If you win then I will stay here and heal for a few more days."

"No." He stepped forward, those dark eyes staring you down. "You will stay here until I deem you strong enough." Altaïr didn't hesitate in his first attack. His sword met brutally with your crossed blades, sending trembles down the bones of your arms making them feel hollow and brittle. Both of your blades struggled against his single longsword.

You shoved him away using every muscle in your back. "You're not my mentor nor my master." You just barely parried the next sweep of his blade. And the quick succession behind it twisted the short sword from your weak hand, tossing it across the dusty earth. "You don't get to determine if I am ready."

"If I recall correctly you proved a similar point to me in al-Rahman." He walked around the ring, sizing you up as you did the same. "You knocked me to the ground to keep me from hunting down my traitorous contact."

He leapt forward, longsword whipping through the air, your blade just barely halting his. Altaïr was sly, using his weight to slip past the locked swords to press the cold metal of his hidden blade against the heat of your throat, your swords lowering cautiously. Altaïr was close enough that you could see beneath his hood, his expression darkened but visible, his irritated gaze holding yours.

Stubborn as always, you let your longsword drop and twisted away from his hidden blade, giving you just enough time to sweep your leg under him until he was knocked onto his back. Altaïr was just as quick and clever, hooking his leg around your knee until you were falling down on top of him. One arm was weak but the other drew back, ready and willing to throw the first punch. Before your knuckles met with his jaw, Altaïr was throwing you onto your back and pinning your hands between your heated bodies.

In a low, frustrated staccato, Altaïr growled against your ear, "Give up. You are not yet ready."

You struggled, feeling your chest burn from the exertion, but too proud to give in. You twisted your hips, slipping a leg upwards until your foot found his thigh, using it as leverage as your other leg thrusted upwards until your knee hammered into his chin. He grunted, jolted backwards, but quickly retaliated by throwing you onto your stomach. He twisted your weakest arm behind your back, bracing you into place with the rest of his body.

"Enough." He gave another shove for emphasis. He whispered lowly, barely audible that you weren't even quite sure whether or not he even said it, "Please. Enough."

You shoved your cheek across the rough earth, rock and sand scraping across skin. You were breathless and worn out, exhaling heavily your resignation. "Alright. You win." You swallowed hard, your entire body relaxing with relief when Altaïr lifted off of you.

He stood up, his feet shuffling across the dirt. He reached a hand down, helping you up onto your feet, ensuring you were steady before dusting off his clothes. "I suppose we will truly require a bath now."

You looked over your dark garments, noting the different red and tan shades of desert earth that coated them. "No thanks to you." You looked around the training grounds, the evening sun dipping low and everyone else having wandered off for their quarters or to the main hall for dinner.

He was already leaping over the fence, waiting for you to follow. He reached out a hand to offer his assistance.

You huffed, a hesitant laugh behind it. You took his hand all the same and climbed over the wooden poles, the rough grains of sand gritty against your hands. "A few days. That's all you get out of me." Truth be told, after that match, you weren't certain you'd be able to get out of bed once you laid down in it. You entire back felt like a giant bruise. Your sore arm was the worst of it, the bone feeling as if it had been shattered.

"That was not our deal." His hold on your hand remained as he led the way through the training grounds. "You must prove you can fight before you can leave." He hesitantly let go, and began the walk towards town as if he wanted to pretend he had never took hold of it in the first place.

You took the path towards the mountainside and when Altaïr realized you weren't going with him he snapped hold of you elbow. You sighed, "What now?"

"Where are you going? The bathhouse is this way."

You tried not to chuckle. You tried so desperately to keep a neutral face. "I'm going to go take a bath in one of the springs..."

He looked over his shoulder at the worn, earthen trail. "Then I will go with you."

"Together?" You narrowed your eyes.

Altaïr lowered his gaze, hood obscuring even his mouth. "I have to ensure that there is no one else up there to watch you. The spring is in the open and there are many who would..."

"How will you manage that?" You wrenched your elbow free then followed the narrow walkway. "With Eagle Vision?"

"You've heard of it." He didn't seem surprised as he followed quietly behind you, his steps barely audible at all.

You looked over your shoulder at him with a curled smirk. "I have it."

Altaïr whipped his head up to examine your expression. He was quiet the rest of the walk, following a few steps behind you all the way up the hillside. The lapping sounds of water and the humidity rolling off of it greeted you long before the sight. You couldn't stop from groaning as you kneeled down at the edge of the pool, that small gesture leaving you breathless. You washed some of the sand from your fingers before standing.

"Well." Even you examined the area, assuring that there were no other energies but Altaïr's and yours. "I'm alone."

Altaïr glanced down the path and hesitated. "You should... bathe in the village bathhouse. Someone could walk up here at any moment."

You began unbuckling the belts, struggling to manage it with only one good hand. "I'm getting in. You can either leave or... stand guard."

"You are stubborn." Altaïr turned the fierceness of his glare onto you. He had more words to speak but they never left his tongue when he saw you pull your outer tunic over your head and pulled your shirt from your breeches. "What are you doing? I am still here."

"I can see that." You sat down and pried off your boots, tossing them with your tunic.

"Do you not care if someone sees you naked?" He took a heated step forward, body tense and rigid. "Why must you refuse to use the bathhouse like everyone else?"

"It's quieter up here." You muttered under your breath, "I don't see what the big deal is. I've done it before."

"You're going to be exposed. Anyone who walks this way will see you." He rubbed hands across his face, shoving back his hood and tugging at his hair as you worked on the lacing of your breeches.

You groaned, your weaker hand fumbling uselessly to tug out the knot while your good hand was swollen and sore from both the heat and the battle. You didn't even realize Altaïr had moved until he was stepping over your legs and straddling them. "What are you doing now?"

He placed a hand against your collarbone and shoved you back into the dirt. "Lie down and be silent." Altaïr turned his attention towards the knot, his hands shakily working at it until the string loosened. "You can not even untie a knot. And to think you wanted to go hunt down Templars."

You sat up quickly, shoving his shoulder as hard as you could. "At least I'm up and walking around. You stayed in bed for weeks with a fever from a small cut."

He gave a low grumble, leaning forward with his own heated anger. "It was infected because you were too ignorant in the ways of treating a simple wound."

"Me?" You all but gasped, a bitter laugh following behind. "You were the idiot who walked straight into an ambush."

"Says the fool woman who did the same."

Your next comment was all but stuck in your throat, remembering clearly that it was Altaïr who had assisted you in that ambush. "I'm taking my clothes off now!" You started roughly shoving at the rim of your breeches.

Altaïr stood up sharply and put his back to you. He held his clenched hands at his side.

You pried off the rest of your clothes, flicking quick glances to Altaïr's back until you were safely submerged into the water. "Perfect." You moaned in delight, pleased to have the heat of the water against your battered muscles. "This beats a bathhouse anyday." You leaned back against the edge and stretched out your quivering arms.

Altaïr's body flinched, his hands moving through his hair again with frustration. He took a quick glance over his shoulder at you before dropping his attention down to his belts. He unbuckled them and tossed each one to the ground at his feet.

You sat up suddenly, blurting, "What are you doing?"

"I need a bath as well." He turned around and lifted his tunic up over his head and tossing it recklessly. His shirt quickly followed, the moon's faint light etching each muscle into shadowed detail. "And since you so boldly decided to bathe here in the open for the world to see, I can just as easily do the same." He toed off his boots and irritably kicked them aside.

You whipped your head away and desperately made an attempt to look calm. You leaned back against the edge of the spring, elbows posted casually beside you. "Fine. Go ahead. I've already seen you naked." You swallowed your pulse quickly, remembering how attractive Altaïr had been. Your heart thudded even in your ears. You heard the soft splash of water and felt the ripples tickle your skin as Altaïr joined you in the spring.

"You were right." He groaned and, from the corner of your eye, he cupped a bit of water into his hands, pouring it over his face and scalp. The water streamed across his dark skin, catching at his eyelashes and full lips. "This is warm." He stood up and let the water lap against his waist. He cupped water into his hands and poured it over his chest, your eyes following his taut figure and the trail of dark hair leading down from his naval.

You turned your head away, mouth opening and closing but finding very few words. You stood up, challenging his arrogance and stubbornness. "It doesn't bother me. We're just two Assassins bathing after a long day of training, remember?"

"Two Assassins," he readily agreed, daring to take a step towards you, his eyes fiercely meeting with yours. But you watched them flicker downwards for a mere second, glimpsing your bare chest and lower, before meeting your gaze again with the touch of a blush on his cheeks.

You gave a victorious smirk. "Are we still just two Assassins?"

Altaïr's breathing seemed unsteady, annoyance morphing his expression and drawing his brows together. "No, we're not... Not anymore." He lifted his hands and for a moment you thought he was going to strangle you. But his fingers slipped through your hair and pulled your head forward until his mouth tugged against your own in a demanding kiss. His eyes slipped closed and molded his lips fervently into yours.

You hardly had time to react, your hands hovering until finally settling onto the tense muscles of his shoulders. You stepped into him, the warm water tickling the skin along your hips and stomach, his body leaning over yours. You jolted with surprise, a heat blooming between your thighs when Altaïr's hips joined yours, his hardening desire pressed between you. It felt burning hot against you and larger than you might have imagined, realizing how little you truly knew about the male body. In fact, Altaïr had been the first naked man you had ever seen, the first man you had ever kissed.

You pried yourself away from him, stumbling backwards. His kiss still tingled against your lips as you searched for words, for an explanation or an excuse. His eyes surveyed your face as you stepped further away from him, away from his touch. Your heart was still racing, your face flushed and heated, your entire body trembling with the adrenaline of anticipation. You shook your hands, hoping to shake away their nervousness. "It's, uh, getting late... and I, uh..." You pulled yourself up onto the edge of the bank, your attention locked onto your pile of clothes. "I should probably get some... sleep. I think I might train early tomorrow morning and if I don't get any sleep I'll be completely useless."

Altaïr was silent as you awkwardly jerked your breeches over your wet skin. You regretted looking over at him as you pulled the shirt over your head. Altaïr was still standing where you left him, his gaze lingering on the place where you had been. You couldn't read his expression. It was the typical emptiness of a well placed mask, something he had learned well from his Assassin training.

Your fingers wrapped around the hem of your shirt, pulling and tugging at it. "Altaïr..." You turned your eyes to the green grasses that thrived off of the spring's nourishment. You rubbed the bottom of your feet along the blades, doing anything but facing the situation before you. When you realized he wasn't going to speak, you glanced back up at him again. He was still in the same spot. "I'd like to explain."

He almost looked at you, his eyes sweeping their attention but stopped short of meeting with your gaze. "You do not need to explain."

You spoke firmly, determined to make him listen. "No, I do." Your hands nervously gathered your hair, their ends damp from the water. You dipped your head away so that you couldn't see him and he couldn't see your face. "I am embarrassed to say that I've never... been with anyone before. I'm not practiced in... sex." There was another long silence and you could barely handle it. You almost left the rest of your stuff and walked away, preferring to collect it at a later time when Altaïr wasn't around.

But there was movement in the water, you heard it clearly. You didn't dare look up at him. You watched Altaïr's hands push his body up onto the earth and then his feet standing before you, water glistening across his skin. Altaïr spoke plainly, bluntly, "Sex isn't like Assassinating a target. It isn't something you practice or gain skill in."

You almost looked up at him, your blush burning harder, and you forced your head to turn towards the darkening horizon and the village in the distance. You folded an arm against your stomach, a hand pressed to your lips.

"Look at me." His voice nearly drew your attention but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. "Look at me." His fingers curled around your chin, turning your head until your eyes met the darkening brown of his eyes, the sunlight fading away. "I will not force anything to happen between us. We both have obligations. You have the people of al-Rahman. I have to make up for my mistakes to the brotherhood. When you are ready, you know where to find me." His hand fell away, leaving you dazed as he walked off to gather his gear.

Tonight, you wanted to say but your tongue felt heavy and your whole body felt weightless and feverish. He was right and you did have obligations, things that were important and people who needed you. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip before quickly blurting, "Okay."

Altaïr was already tying the lacing of his pants when he looked up at you through his dark lashes, water still dappled upon them. The brown curls of his hair were still damp, twisting downwards across his forehead.

"In your room." You stepped forward, swallowing down the anxiety that lumped painfully in your throat. "Tonight."

He took down a deep breath, his attention bobbing away to the remainder of your gear. He opened his mouth to reply but bit down on whatever it was. He slung the belts over his shoulder, grabbed his boots, then held out of his hand to you. It wasn't a demand. He wasn't being his usual dominant, towering self or in anyway showing arrogance. Everything about his stance and the quivers in his hand told you that it was a request, a nervous and worried request.

You were just as jittery, just as nervous when you reached out and softly put your hand on his. You could feel the rough skin of his palm and fingers, worn from years of sword fighting and hard labor. But his hold on your hand was all the gentler just in case you changed your mind at any point and wanted to pull away.

He walked one step ahead. His attention was on everything along the path towards the living quarters, from the thorny shrubs to the lizard that scurried along the dirt into hiding. He walked the stone steps into the castle, through the main hall, and towards the staircase.

"I trust you." You broke the silence, startling even yourself with the sound.

Altaïr looked around before stopping at the top of the stairs. He ducked his head down and lifted your knuckles towards his mouth, placing a chaste kiss onto them, his eyes meeting with yours every so briefly. He looked ahead, following the halls until reaching a heavy wooden door and pushing it open.

Altaïr stood outside of the room. He let go of your hand and placed the belts and boots inside of the room near the entrance. "Are you certain you wish to do this?"

You analyzed his stance, examined his expression, but Altaïr was so difficult to read. There was no arrogance, there wasn't an ounce of his usual confidence, but you weren't entirely certain how he was feeling about all of it. "Are you?"

He took down a steadying breath, a hand lifting to your neck while his head dipped until his mouth hovered over yours. They were brief kisses, tender and sweet, not at all dominant. Almost hesitant, as if he were questioning their permittance. You snapped hold of his collar, chasing away any doubt that he might have had, and stepped backwards into the room.

Without even breaking the kiss, Altaïr shoved the door closed behind him and stumbled in following you. His hands ghosted upwards across your arm and along the slenderness of your neck. He pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it before letting it slip away. He watched you roll your throbbing lip into your mouth to taste the aftermath of his kiss.

Altaïr stepped back and lifted his tunic and shirt over his head. "I will teach you what I know." He reached a hand out and let his fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, his thumb taking in its texture.

You smirked at his nervousness, feeling it reflected in the swooning of your heart. "Oh? You're going to teach me? I thought you said it wasn't like Assassinating."

He seemed to ease a bit, the tenseness melting away as he moved closer. "There are some basic things that might be helpful."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Of course. Master Assassin Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad knows all there is--" You gasped, the rest of your words jumbling, as Altaïr's warm hand slipped beneath your shirt to skim upwards to the mound of your breast, fingertips flitting across your peaking nipple. Your eyes met his hungry gaze which sparked the harshness of a blush starting from your face all the way down between your thighs. Even as his hand moved downwards across your skin, his golden brown eyes never left their hold on yours.

His fingers curled over the edge of your pants and tugged your hips against his. "We are not Assassin, remember? Not while we are alone together." Altaïr leaned forward, hot breath brushing across your lips as he mumbled, "If there's any moment you want me to stop simply say it and I shall."

You gave a meager nod of your head which was enough for Altaïr. He turned to work on the lacing of your breeches, tugging them open before leading you over towards the bed. You sat down, fingers clutched on the edge like a hawk before the leap, as he kneeled down between your parting knees.

"It's alright." He took your hands, smoothing away the tension. "Lie down." Once your spine rested against the mattress, he folded your hands neatly onto your stomach. He worked on pulling the cloth downwards over your thighs and off of your legs, the coldness of the room contrasting against your fiery skin. He dropped them to the floor and settled himself before you, his warm hands delicately tracing up your thighs to the curve of your hipbone.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying it, before lifting your head to peer down at Altaïr. He was leaning forward, his hot breath tickling your sensitive skin and his lips parting as he neared your entrance. "Actually." You jolted upright, your hand firm against his shoulder. You shoved your hips away from him, away from the edge of the bed. "I don't think I'm ready for... that."

He licked his lips as his eyes swept over towards the pillows, thoughts flickering through his mind. "Let me try something different." He stood up, walked the length of the bed, and patted the pillows. "Lie down on your stomach. And take your shirt off."

You fiddled with the edges of the dark gray shirt, not daring to pull it over your head until Altaïr walked over towards a cluttered desk with his back to you. You took down a slow deep breath, chest expanding and heart rate mildly steadying. Your shirt fell to the floor. You untied the bandage with fumbling fingers, tossing it down with your shirt. Your fingertips just barely skimmed over the marred surface of the wound, seeing it for yourself for the first time.

You awkwardly laid down on the bed, stomach warm against the blankets but your entire backside chilled by the open air. You shoved a pillow beneath your head, hugging onto it for comfort, delighting in the scent that lingered there. It was Altair's scent, a mixture of dry desert sand and refreshing mint.

Altaïr returned with a wooden container of oils that were used to clean and maintain blades and bows. He placed the container onto the bedside table and kneeled down on the bed beside you. "I still have my pants on," he stated it matter-of-factly but it was to calm your state of mind as he straddled your backside, his weight pinning your hipbones into the mattress. "Good?"

You gave a nod as he softly gathered your hair and fanned it upwards across the pillow, exploring your neck and shoulders with the tips of his fingers. He peppered kisses down the back of your neck, your eyes slipped closed as he moved from one shoulder to the other.

He turned his attention to the container on the bedside table. He dipped his fingers into the gel, warming it between his rubbing hands. Altaïr carefully massaged the slick oil into the muscles of your upper back. His fingers rolled your muscles over bone, smoothing away the lingering tension. You leaned into his touch, your hips arching back to meet with his, your body melting under his expert workings.

His body swayed over yours and he worked his hands against yours muscles, his hips rolling forward, pressing yours into the bed. His fingers slipped upwards along your neck, smearing the warm oil across your skin. His thumbs pressed firm circles along your spine and shoulder blades, carefully avoiding the scabbed spear wound. With each intense knead, he pulled a satisfied moan out of you, giving him the confidence to caress further down along your spine.

You jolted, startling both yourself and Altaïr.

His touch vanished, hands hovering cautiously. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," you mumbled, turning your head into the pillow. It had felt delightful and also very ticklish. But you couldn't stand the thought that Altaïr would learn about a spot that might make your giggle helplessly.

"Is that spot sore from training?" His hand gently lowered as if he were too afraid to strike up any pain that might be still there and he was very close to making you jolt again.

You laughed, turning just a small amount to swat his hand away. "No." You muttered it against the pillow, "It... tickled."

Altaïr chuckled under his breath. He leaned forward, his weight shifting and his hands slipping up across your skin as he pressed his mouth onto your ear. His voice was rougher, deep and sultry, enough to twist you into a tight knot, "Give me a moment and we'll work on what we started." His warmth was gone, leaving you to shiver against the sheets, the oil cooling upon your skin. You breathed deep, the fresh citrus scent of cedar oil coating your nose and throat.

He wasn't gone for long, his weight shifting the bed beneath you and his warmth enveloping every inch of exposed skin. Altaïr stretched out across you, his clothed legs tangling with your bare thighs as his hand skimmed between your stomach and the bed. "Remember," he said against your ear, chest rising sharply to meet your back almost as if he were out of breath. His skin against yours felt warm especially with the slick oil in between. "You can me tell me to stop."

His calloused fingers grazed across your sensitive bud, a heavy heat pooling from the simple touch. You gasped as your mind reeled from the pleasure. The very tip of one finger slipped into your sleek warmth, wetting it before returning to work a rhythm into your clit, immeasurably small circles that tightened the muscles of your thighs and stomach with each strike across it.

Altaïr took hold of the back of your hand, pulling it away from its tight grip around the pillow. He laced his fingers with yours and muttered against your ear, "Still good?"

You heaved down a few breaths, barely hissing out an audible, "Y-yes." You closed your mouth around a moan, swallowing it before pleading, "Yes."

He pressed his cheek against yours, his fingers curling into your palm. His breathing was labored, a forced pace as his fingertips teased against your entrance. You dug your free hand into the bed, clenching the thin cover with hopes that Altaïr might satiate the building desire. Your thighs opened wider, granting him access and beckoning for something more. You hips lifted higher until your backside rubbed enticingly against his clothed erection, stifling a grunt of pleasure out of him.

Your breath hitched in your chest when he finally speared his thick fingers down to their knuckles, curling them inside of your moist warmth. Your hips bucked into his large hand, needy and desperate, convulsing with each of his hammering thrusts, your hand following his muscled arm until you reached his bony wrist.

You hid your heated embarrassment into the pillow when a whimper broke from your throat. He buried a breathy groan against your neck as you trembled beneath him. His fingers worked harder, thrusting expertly inside, palm harshly shoving into the throbbing heat of your clit. Your body went rigid, tightening as the word "please" fell from your lips. The heel of his palm jutted sharply across your swollen bud, sparking the peak of your orgasm. Your muscles went taut, your walls sleek with cum and finally you collapsed with the delicious afterglow.

Altaïr rested a moment and let his hot breath billow across your flushed cheek before pulling his fingers out and gripping hold of your waist. He slid his soft lips down your neck and over your shoulder blades. He carefully enticed you over onto your back and swept his gaze across your naked form, setting your skin ablaze beneath his appreciative scrutiny.

Your nervousness suddenly returned, your arms crossing as you curled up onto your side. Altaïr leaned forward and kissed the skin of your shoulder and down across your collarbone, sweeping his tongue over the sweat along the curve of your breast. Each of his tender kisses eased your back closer into the bed, your body melting beneath his touches as his weight moved with you.

Altaïr lifted his head, attention focused on your mouth as he rolled his bottom lip against his tongue. "More?"

"Yes." You shifted your hips beneath him, aligning your bodies so that they fitted together. You kissed him tenderly, arms thrown around his neck so that he might lean closer. You muttered it against his mouth, "Yes, Altaïr, yes."

His hand moved between your bodies, this time tugging at the lacing of his breeches. "It might be uncomfortable for a while."

Your heart skidded, skipping a few beats but you painfully swallowed the anxiety. You gave a weak chuckle. "I had a spear go through my shoulder. I think I can handle uncomfortable."

He peeled the thick cloth of his pants away from his throbbing erection, letting it jut forward stiffly between your bodies. It was larger than before and painfully red compared to the rest of his dark complexion. Your attention jolted to his face, his eyes watching your expression with analytical concern. You forced your features to soften, your brows to lower but he had already glimpsed your worry.

Altaïr brushed a hand across your cheek. He tilted his head and left a soft kiss on your lips before placing an even softer one. He turned his head, noses meeting before tilting the other direction, another kiss that tugged against your lips. "It will be alright," he muttered it. "Tell me to stop and I shall."

His arm slipped beneath your neck, lifting it to expose the sensitive skin to his nipping teeth. His hand wandered downwards across your ribs to trace the curve of your hips and thighs. He pushed your leg upwards as his hips rolled forward ever so slightly, trembling to press his tip to your slick entrance. He just barely entered, teasing you painfully with the prospect of what was to come.

Altaïr gave a groan and peered down at your body arching into his. He lifted up, rolling onto his back and roughly shoved at his breeches. Your body ached and shivered at the loss of his warmth, the room somehow colder than you ever thought possible. You watched his body flex and fight against the cloth, his stiffened cock straining even more after enjoying the brief touch of your heated body.

When he finally got the pants off and tossed them onto the floor, you rose up onto your knees and straddled him. He took down a shaky and startled breath, his lidded gaze sweeping upwards across your form to rest on the emotion in your eyes.

You took your time, letting your hands roam across the taut muscle of his chest and downwards along the tight hills and valleys of his abs. His stomach flinched beneath your caressing fingertips. He became breathy, lips parting and hands grasping into the soft flesh of your thighs. He took down a shuddered breath when you lifted your hips off of him and guided your hot, moist entrance towards his pulsing erection.

You took his throbbing cock into your palm, glancing up at his expression. He was watching you eagerly, mesmerized as your fingertips followed the hard muscle, skin velvety soft, to the very tip where a bead of white precum glistened. You ran your thumb across it, smearing the strange sticky liquid around the edges. "Is this alright?"

Altaïr barely managed to speak through his clenched teeth, hissing out a raspy, "Yes." You guided the very head of him to your soaked entrance, his body going rigid and his fingers digging bruisingly deep into your legs. His mouth fell open, jaw dropping the deeper you sunk around him. With quivering lips, Altaïr muttered a few words that you couldn't quite make out but they sounded distraught.

Your hands fell flat against his chest, your body halting halfway down his length when his large size painfully stretched your cunt. He shoved his crown back against the pillow, pushing it upwards across the bed. His hips squirmed, impatient and eager, and he forced himself to steady against the mattress.

Altaïr gave a strangled moan, a startled whimper when your fingernails curved into his skin as you forced yourself to thrust the last of him inside. You buried your teeth into your bottom lip, watching the emotions play across Altaïr's expression as you rocked gently around him. You had never seen him look so anguished or heard such pleading sounds come from his throat, especially never thought you could draw it out of him yourself.

He took hold of your hands and held them for a moment before resettling his head onto his pillow, his brown eyes roving across your facial features. "Take a moment to rest," he whispered raspily, lifting a thumb to wipe a tear that glistened the corner of your eye. "Do not force yourself."

You closed your eyes and took down a few steadying breaths, giving him a slight nod of your head. Your body was fiery warm and feverish, Altaïr searing you where ever your skin met with his.

"Here." Altaïr placed your fingers into the dark brown tufts of his hair, encouraging your touch by leaning into it. "Please." You took in the softness, raking your nails across his scalp remembering how much he had enjoyed it once before.

He moaned beneath your stroking fingers, his breath ceasing when you leaned forward, pleasantly rolling your hips with the subtle movement. His eyelids drooped over his vision, the rough skin of his palm massaging against your thighs and backside. You kissed his trembling lips, sweat sheening thinly across his skin. Hot breath blew passed his lips in a heavy sigh, his mouth eagerly capturing yours, hungrily tasting you as his hand moved to grip the back of your neck. His kiss grew harsher, deeper and desperate.

Altaïr left your lips tingling, your mouth tasting of refreshing mint tea, and your lungs heaving for air. Your thumb traced over the soft scar at the corner of his mouth. You had difficulty sitting upwards which caused Altaïr to give another whimper, his brows bending beneath an array of emotions.

"Am I hurting you?" You slid your hands down along his thick neck and over the hard bone of his shoulders. Laying out before you, panting and shivering, Altaïr was more vulnerable and exposed than he probably had ever been in his entire life. Altaïr allowed you to see him this way, to see a side of him few others might have ever witnessed and lived.

The corner of Altaïr's lips curled briefly. "N-no." He swallowed the bundle of anxiety building in his throat. He bent his legs and pressed them against your back to offer you support. "Don't stop." His eyes locked onto where your two bodies joined, moaning and panting with each minor movement you made while riding his sensitive length. His hand jumped to your stomach, fingers pressing firmly. "There." He shuddered down a gasp. "Right there."

He lifted his lower backside upwards off of the mattress, bringing your body with him. You rolled your lips into your mouth, running your tongue against them as his hands held you firmly into place, balancing you on your knees above him.

His hips separated slightly from yours, his hard warmth slowly sliding out before fiercely thrusting forward, jostling your knees off of the bed momentarily and tightening your grip on his hair. He groaned through clenched teeth as he bucked his hips forward, twisting your body into a painfully heated knot with each rhythmic thrust into you. His panting matched in chorus with the ragged heaves his body made against yours.

A gasp jolted out of your throat, your toes curled and your muscles clenched, your thighs quivering on either side of him. Despite the trembles in your legs, you rocked your body back to meet with his, enjoying the feeling of him deep inside. It was a messy rhythm, a desperate and senseless joining of two bodies that rolled and swayed against skin and bones. Your arms weakened beneath your weight until you were bowed over and Altaïr could tilt his chin upwards to tease a kiss out of you.

He forced you to rest your forehead on his, held your gaze without blinking. He lifted his mouth yours, mumbling against your swollen lips, "Do you need to rest?"

Your mouth pulled away when your body convulsed, an electric heat that left you clenching around his erection. You shook your head, not trusting in your own voice to speak any words, another moan building tightly in the back of your throat. You buried your face into the curve of his neck, breathing deep the musk of his sweat and the dirt of the training ground. Your legs trembled until Altaïr's body was the only thing supporting you. You melted listlessly around him, his arms the only thing keeping you from falling away.

Altaïr gave a deep chested growl, his body jerking beneath you as the heat of his cum spilled into your inner walls. His hips stilled, erection twitching out the last of his seed and his chest heaving down a few more hapless breaths.

You curled your arms beside you, fingers caressing the skin along his collarbone, your lips kissing sleepily against the edge of his jawline.

His calloused hand scraped along your back, soothing circles across your spine and shoulder blade. He stretched out his legs, easing his body into the bed with a deep sigh. He turned his head, tilting it so that he might get a better look at your expression. "Are you in any pain?"

"I'm alright." You hummed your approval, shifting only slightly against him, your body sore from both the sword fight and the aftermath of sexual pleasure. You pressed a smile against his cheek. "I don't think I can move just yet but I'll live."

His arms encased you, turning the both of your bodies until your spine pressed into the bed. "Rest a little longer. I will fetch something for you to drink." Altaïr rose to his knees, softening length slipping out of you, before moving off the edge of the bed. He walked unabashed, the muscles of his naked body flexing and rolling with each step. He moved to the other side of the room where an earthen pitcher rested with clay cups.

He glanced over his shoulder at you while pouring the water from the pitcher. "Come with me to Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem?" You turned your attention towards the ceiling, focusing on its details rather than Altaïr's expression. "I have to return to al-Rahman."

You heard the soft steps of his bare feet on the stone. "In time." He sat down on the edge of the bed and helped you sit up to sip on the lukewarm water. "I spoke with Al Mualim about Tahir. He stated that Jerusalem would hold more clues about his location."

You drank your fill then watched him place the cup onto the bedside table. "I need to find those people--"

Altaïr squeezed a firm hand onto your shoulder, his amber eyes burrowing into yours. "Many ships pass through the harbors of al-Rahman and the cities like it. You will learn more if you hunt down Tahir's records instead."

You swept your attention across the room towards the dim moonlight that spilled across the wall from the room's single window. "I will go to Jerusalem but the moment I find out where the ship is harbored..."

"I understand." He tilted his chin away, analysing what emotions he could see. The edge of his lip twitched into a subtle smile. "Come. We still have a bath to finish."


	16. Flock Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some slight interference with your plan to leave Masyaf with Altaïr. Not to mention the truth about the need for secrecy in your growing relationship becomes all the clearer.

You awoke with Altaïr next to you, the fresh scent of mint and the peppery aroma of cardamom. He was breathing soft whispers, chest rising in a slow rhythm but you were aware that he was awake. Altaïr always woke before the sun. He was always ready for the next event to occur. This morning he seemed more inclined to let events happen without him, more eager to relax than act.

You reached out and let your fingertips fiddle with the cloth of his pale shirt, admiring the way it rolled over his sculpted muscles. You muttered under your breath, not quite trusting your voice this early in the morning, "We should leave for Jerusalem soon."

Altaïr didn't move even in the slightest. Nor did he open his eyes. He took down a deep breath of air, filling his lungs with it before sighing. "It's a five day ride. Let me have a quiet moment with you."

You grinned, hardly believing your ears. "The Great and Almighty Altaïr... wants to have a quiet moment?" You sat up, resting all of your weight onto your arm as you faced the details of his expression. "You must have a terrible fever! Where's the doctor? I must rush off and get him!"

Altaïr appeared to be unaffected but then, like a quick viper, his arms struck. He grappled hold of you, pulling you down against him until he could bury his face into the tresses of your hair. He took down a deep breath, moaning with delight to whatever scent he smelled. "It is a great illness that I have."

You let your teeth nip against his earlobe, tongue touching briefly. "However shall we save you, Altaïr."

His calloused and worn fingers caressed upwards along your jaw and cheek, slipping into your hair. Before he could reply, before he could even take his eyes off of yours, the heavy wooden door was thrown open and cracked against the gray stone of the fortress walls. You threw your attention towards the door, Saif taking up most of the space with his presence. He stood like a tense statue, his expression impossible to decipher.

"Atair." He grappled his hands behind his back and turned towards the hallway. "Come with me. We must speak."

You curled your fingers around Altaïr's arm as he sat up to abide by Saif's request. "Don't." You clung even tighter. "Whatever he has to say--"

"It is alright." Altaïr rested the golden irises of his eyes on you, not a hint of worry or fear in them. "Meet me in the tower. You will see my return better from there."

You let him go. Altaïr wasn't a child. He was an adult and he was fully capable of making his own decision. He wouldn't want you to coddle him. He wouldn't want you to follow. You simply watched the door to the bedroom close behind them, shutting away whatever events might transpire.

Altaïr wouldn't have wanted you to follow but that didn't mean you weren't going to. You scurried out of bed and threw on your belts and blades, hardly checking if they were secure or not. Out in the hallway there was no sign of them. You could only assume that they were heading somewhere private to talk or Saif was bringing him before Al Mualim for assessment.

You nearly ran into a few servants on the way downwards to the ground floor, your feet failing to take the stone steps quickly enough. Even in the gardens outside, you caught no glimpse of them. But Abbas stood with a few others gathered around the archway to the training grounds.

You hurried towards him, his attention catching sight of you. "Abbas."

He smiled widely, a glint in his eyes as he started walking towards you. "It is good to see you, friend."

"Abbas, did you see my fath--" No, you thought suddenly, no one here recognized him as such. To them he was your mentor alone and nothing more. "Saif, did you see Saif and Altaïr come this way?"

"Altaïr?" He narrowed his eyes. His brows pinched together as he pointed at your gear. "Your jerkin is inside out..."

You looked down at your attire. You must have thrown it on quickly without really looking at it. "Did you see them or not?" You jolted your attention back to Abbas. You knew he had a rivalry with Altaïr. Whatever happened between them was none of your concern. "Please, Abbas. If you care about me--"

He lifted a hand, tossing his attention over towards the sleeping quarters. "I can not understand your love towards him. You do not see what I see in that man. But..." He rubbed his hand downwards across his face and you swore his eyes were reddening. "I saw them head to the stables. I think they may have left Masyaf."

"Thank you." You ran passed him, hand squeezing his shoulder as you hurried through the immense castle grounds. You hoped that with a strong amount of luck you would catch up with them. Surely, you could spot them just before they rode off too far away from the village. It never occurred to you to think about why they left or where they were going. All you could think about was catching up before Saif did something drastic.

You skidded to a stop at the stables, dust and dirt rising around you in a hazy cloud. You looked across every path and horizon, looked for clues in the dirt to see where the last horse raced off to. But Masyaf was busy this morning, the stables empty of all but a few horses. Too many hoof prints littered the earth.

You shoved your fingers up into your hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. Wherever they went and for whatever reason they left... It was beyond you now. You would simply have to wait for their return. You would simply have to hope that nothing horrible happened to them. Saif was a stern and calculating man but... he would never kill Altaïr. Or so, that is what you wanted to believe.

You sat down on the well's stone wall in the center of the village, hunched over and waited. Your body suddenly regretted having raced such a great distance. After the shoulder wound and the scuffle with Altaïr in the training pit, the last thing your body needed was to go running.

"My favorite pupil." Nizar's voice was rich and it was a comfort to hear. He walked over from the market bazaars, the morning sun casting his expression into shadow but you knew he was smiling. "You do not look so well, my friend."

You forced a grin, sitting up a bit straighter. "I'm just worried about something, that's all."

He nodded his head, a sudden seriousness gripping him. "Come with me. There is something I must show you." He waved you to follow him as he walked to the other side of the town square and you reluctantly followed. "The village is still recuperating from de Sable's attack. But because of you..." Nizar looked over his shoulder, his dark skin shimmering in the sun's light. "They can strive for better."

"I don't understand." Your pace quickened to keep up with him. You followed his gaze to the small market stall where a man and his young daughter worked. You stared at each of them, your feet still following Nizar towards their familiar faces.

He smiled at the merchant, voice as kind as before, "Good morning. My friend and I would like two of those desserts."

The merchant smiled at Nizar but when his eyes landed on you, he took down a shuddered breath. He leaned across the stall, reaching out and snapping up your hands. "Thank you. A thousand blessings and thousands more. You saved my daughter that night." He swept a hand over towards the small child who was shyly tucked at his feet.

You bowed your head away, eyes suddenly glistening warmly with tears. "It was only the right thing to do, that is all."

"You saved her." He squeezed your hands. "None of the others did. We all saw you up in the tower. We all know what you did for us."

You finally looked at him and saw the sincerity in his expression. You nervously turned your eyes out to the village, catching a glimpse of the people before they all averted their attentions away. You had never noticed their stares before. Your thoughts had been elsewhere, with Altaïr and with al-Rahman. You hadn't thought fighting the Templars that day had been all that important.

"I wish for her to join the Order. I am sending her soon." He raised a hand out, pointing it towards the great castle perched high on the cliffs. "She will have a better life there than the life of some... housewife. Please..." He leaned forward, drawing back your attention. "Will you train her? Be her mentor and teach her all you know."

Your mouth fell open, your eyes darting down to the child. You gave a slow nod and looked the man in the eyes. "I will train her, yes. But let her enjoy childhood a bit longer."

He smiled widely, letting it reach his eyes. "Thank you. Truly."

You bowed your head, his firm grasp falling away.

Nizar took two pastries, paying for them before nudging you to follow him once more. "A doctor arrived not long before Altaïr brought you here." He placed the honeyed nut dessert into your hands. "He has worked nonstop to heal our sick and wounded, never asking for anything in return."

You weakly held onto the baked good, feeling it's warmth chase away the early morning chill as you took in the sight. "He is the doctor from al-Rahman."

Nizar took a few quiet bites, watching as the doctor worked diligently about the small little clinic. It was nothing more than a shambled wooden structure, open-faced and dusted with dirt. He had clients from minor coughs to festering gashes, common civilians and robed Assassins.

"It is quite a thing," Nizar finally stated. He walked further into the village, his pace a gentle stroll. "To save a person or to show them mercy. So few of us remember the power that such a small act can provide."

"Why show me this?" You turned the pastry, half-heartedly looking at it before taking a few small nibbles. Your thoughts still drifted to Altaïr and Saif. It was hard to eat when you were so worried.

He gave a chuckle, a shove of his shoulder into yours. "You needed to see something good. Whatever is bothering you, it shall pass." The corner of his eyes crinkled and it contagiously afflicted a smile out of you. "Remember that all things shall pass in time. All we have is now."

You rolled your eyes closed but grinned all the same. "You sound like Saif." You slowly nibbled down the last few bites of the sticky treat.

"He is a wise man," muttered Nizar. "And he has planted that wisdom in you as well."

You nodded your head and licked the honey from your fingers. You grasped the truth in Nizar's words. Wise or not, Saif still harbored emotions. And anger was definitely one of them. You just hoped that whatever anger he held wasn't great enough to consume him and consume Altaïr as well.

Nizar lifted a hand out towards the entrance of Al Mualim's tower and the figure of your mentor as he stepped inside. Saif. If he was back in Masyaf then surely so too was Altaïr. You would have run off towards the dorms but Nizar firmly grabbed hold of your elbow. He let go when you glowered irritably. "Before you waste your energy looking for him, perhaps using your intelligence would be better?" He tapped his fingers against his skull before sauntering off to join the other spectators at the training grounds.

You rarely used Eagle Vision unless it was to track a target. Today, Altaïr would be your target. Masyaf was full of bustling people which made it all the more difficult. You remembered Altaïr having mentioned the tower, asking that you wait for him there. You'd forgotten in your moment of panic. You focused your attention there and saw clearly the energy posted on one of the highest beams. You focused on it, making out very few features but somehow knowing in your gut it was him.

You quickened your pace, slipping through the passersby and trainees, entering into the tower. You took the steps two at a time then three at a time, your feet never going fast enough for you. By the time you reached the top step, you were breathless and trembling. Your body was already weak from previous events and now you were pushing yourself even further.

Altaïr gave an annoyed groan, his arm hooking around your waist. "You should be resting... I shouldn't have had you come."

"You should be resting with me." You leaned against him, using his presence for support as you he walked a few steps with you. You suddenly remembered Saif's anger. "Are you alright? What happened?"

He shook his head, turning so that his hood might obscure whatever expression he adorned. "You should worry about yourself. Saif only spoke words, nothing more." Altaïr slowed until finally facing you, pulling you against his chest. "We should leave for Jerusalem. Al Mualim has already given me the next name on the list."

You glanced about the quiet tower, only the howling wind breaking the silence. There was no one around, no spying eyes, when you raised up on the tips of your toes. Your curled your fingers around the edge of his hood, yours eyes staring hopefully into his. "Whatever happens from here on out... with Saif or with the Order--"

Altaïr didn't allow you to speak your fears or mutter your discouraged thoughts. He gathered your face into his hands and pressed his mouth over yours, swallowing down your words and moans. You eagerly parted your lips and tasted the mint tea that lingered on his tongue. His body fit against yours as he stepped forward, legs intermingling and hips pressed. His large hand followed the curve of your spine until he could grasp your lower backside and squeeze demandingly.

You'd been so consumed with Altaïr's encasing warmth that you hadn't heard the approach of another. Their boots scuffed against the stone stairs, their unfamiliar voice echoing, "Not again. I told you boys--" His words were cut short when Altaïr stepped backwards, eyes still upon yours, tense and uncertain. "Al-Altaïr?"

Something darkened in his gaze as the man approached. He spun quickly, snapping hold of the Assassin's head and hidden blade at his exposed throat. "You did not see us. You saw nothing here."

"Yes!" He blurted, knees weakening beneath him. "Of course! Nothing!" His gaze jerked to you then quickly to the floor in fear. He worried that seeing your face would cause Altaïr's anger to grow even further.

You snapped hold of Altaïr's hand and cautiously pulled him away from the cowering man to the spiraling staircase. When you thought you were far enough down the tower you halted and turned to him. "You didn't have to threaten the poor man."

He tilted his head, brows furrowing together. Altaïr grabbed hold of your shoulders and leaned forward, not even the shadow of his hood could obscure his annoyance. "I do not think you understand the true severity of what we are doing. Al Mualim wants complete loyalty to the Order. Loyalty to him. One can not be loyal to him as well as a loved one. Assassins can not even show affection to their own children. What do you think Al Mualim will do when he discovers what we are doing?"

You bowed your head away from him, a sudden nervousness gripping hold of you. Saif had been weary of the Order. He had kept you from them for a reason that you never understood. You muttered weakly, "What did Saif say to you?"

Altaïr's hands slid down your arms. He hesitated before taking hold of your hands, fingers lacing with yours. "He asked that I not allow you to pursue the slave ships. He believes that if you go after them your need for revenge will consume you."

You tossed your head to the side, hardly expecting the response and bitter that Saif thought you so weak. "And what shall you do?"

"This mission is your own." His forehead pressed against yours, drawing your attention to the soft light cast upon his smirk. "It is not my place to decide."

"Thank you, Altaïr." You nearly leaned forward and kissed him but the scuff of boots made you gasp. You jerked your hands away from him and began the slow descent down the rest of the tower, Altaïr following slowly behind you out into the training grounds. You looked over your shoulder at him, the intense light of the sun chasing away the coldness of fear. "To Jerusalem then?"

"If you are ready, let us go now." He quickened his pace. He would never say it aloud but Altaïr was also afraid. Perhaps not afraid of his own safety. But there was something else, something Al Mualim was capable of. He had always unsettled you, the great Mentor who ruled over an army of killers. You remembered briefly that day when he had plunged a dagger into Altaïr, making not only you but everyone else believe he had died. For now, you would have to be careful.


	17. A Flighty Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You journey with Altair to Jerusalem where Malik serves as Rafiq

You left Masyaf in a hurry, Altaïr refusing to stop and rest the first day of the journey. The next few nights were quiet and brief rests, a few hours of sleep before riding off again. The further away the both of you were from the scrutiny of the Assassin's the better you started to feel. Altaïr even began to slouch a bit in his saddle, either from relief or from exhaustion. But you'd never seen him so relaxed, so pleased, as you did then.

You pulled taut the reins of your horse, slowing it to a stop and Altaïr quickly noticed. He looked over at you, turning his mount back down the path towards yours. You flicked your attention to the darkening sky, the mild chill in the air. "We should camp. The horses need a rest and so do we."

He took a few glances around, surveying the surrounding landscape. There were so few trees but there was plenty of coarse grass, a few high cliffs of sandy brown and rusty red. "There was an abandoned house. It would make for a decent spot."

You steered your horse back down the path, remembering the small abandoned little hovel. It looked as if it hadn't been used in years, the ceiling barely holding against the elements. It would work best against bandits or passing guards. And it would certainly hold back the wind, at least for the night.

Altaïr took care of the gear while you tied the horses out back. You made sure they had access to water and a bit of food before heading into the shambled home. Altaïr was just beginning to lay out the blankets when you sauntered over. You dropped down onto one of them, your knees hitting hard earth, before you fell dramatically backwards.

"Truly?" Altaïr rose a brow.

You grinned widely up at him. You couldn't even remember the last time you had smiled so freely. "It's been a long journey. I'm tired."

His eyes softened and his tone as well, "We will reach Jerusalem soon enough."

Your smile slowly faded away. There was something in his words that hinted at discomfort. Jerusalem held something he wasn't ready to face. "The mission... What is it that it would upset the great master assassin?"

His hand moved along the blanket, smoothing out the last of it before he laid out next to you. "It is not the mission that bothers me."

You turned on your side, pressed your cheek against his firm chest. "Something bothers you."

"Malik," he stated blankly. "He is the Rafiq."

Malik, you vaguely recalled the name. Then suddenly you remembered the Assassin who had stumbled into Masyaf long ago with a wounded arm. He had lost that arm and his brother. And all of it had been because of Altaïr. Of course he was nervous at seeing the man again. It shocked you that he even admitted it to you.

You shifted against him, hand careening over his chest. "If you speak..." No. You rolled your eyes shut. He wouldn't listen to Altaïr even if he spoke the truth. "Actions will speak louder to him. Show him that you've changed."

Altaïr moved his arms around you, pressing your to his side. "I shall do what I can. He will not see it but... I will know that I did what I could."

You chuckled, pressing your chin onto his chest as you admired him. "Were those words of wisdom? From you, Altaïr?"

"You are surprised?" He lifted up off the floor, rolling until his body shifted onto yours. His voice became a husky whisper. "I have more words if you wish to hear them." His touched glided downwards across your ribs, thumb barely caressing across the base of your breast.

You slowly licked your lips, lifting them towards his, hovering teasingly. "What sort of words will these be?"

His voice was so low that you were tempted to lean closer, "Silent ones." His eyes slipped shut as his lips parted and brushed over yours. He made contact ever so briefly, never committing to a full kiss. He was taunting you. It was enough to make you tug on the edge of hood. He chuckled, placing a slow kiss and pulling away just as slowly.

Before Altaïr could place another a branch cracked outside and the dried grasses rustled. You focused your vision, drawing upon all of your senses, to make out the presence of a group of men. They were armed and headed towards the house. They must have seen the horses grazing outside.

Altaïr mindfully lifted to his knees and then to his feet. He removed the short blade at the base of his back and walked the small space. He leaned into the wall near the doorway like the silent hunter that he was.

You stayed where you were, closing your eyes but your Eagle Vision gave you enough to see. You calmed your breathing and took note of where your weapons were and how many men there were outside. You focused on yourself rather than the upcoming fight. You needed to control your adrenaline rush as best as possible.

One entered through the door, a second close at his heels. Their eyes were fixed on you rather than Altaïr. His hidden blade struck into the first's neck and the short sword slit the other's throat before he could call for help.

You jumped up onto your feet and helped drag the bodies out of the view. You looked through the thin walls with the Eagle Vision, making out their faded presence. There were two of them at the horses. They were working to untie the reins.

You stepped outside and climbed cautiously up onto the roof above, ignoring the burning pain in your wounded arm. You made sure each step was as silent as the next, never making any noise above the sounds of the wind.

Altaïr was close behind, his boots hardly scuffing against the dusty brick. You both reached the edge of the roof. He waved a hand at you then to the man down on the ground closest to you. He waited for your approval before taking the leap, the both of you dropping expertly onto the men. Their deaths were quick and clean, hardly a sound to disturb the night.

Altaïr stood and wiped the blade clean. "I will take the first watch. You should sleep."

Your eyes wandered over the dead bodies with a meager nod. "Let's dispose of them first. We don't need the guard showing up next." You kneeled down and hooked your arms around the torso of one of the men.

Altaïr marched forward and dropped a heavy hand onto your shoulder. "Go. Rest. I will handle this matter."

"I'm slightly wounded," you reminded him. "I'm not dead."

Altaïr didn't budge and he certainly made no effort to reply. He waited for you to stand up in submission before stating, "I am not treating you any different than I'd treat any other Assassin." He rose to his feet as well, letting his hand calmly press into your waist. It wasn't a demanding touch, only a small gesture to show that he needed to remind himself you were there. "But Assassin or not, you would do the same to me."

You held back your laugh. You reached up and timidly pushed back his hood. "You're right. I would." You took in the features that you could, what little light spilled across the bridge of his nose and his sculpted cheekbones. "I will sleep but you better wake me for my watch. We both need to be rested when we reach Jerusalem."

"I shall." His fingers reached past your own hood, trailing along the bone of your jaw before falling away. He focused his attention to the bandits, beginning the process of dragging them off into the bushes.

You sauntered quietly back into the small home and laid out onto the thin blanket. You pressed your spine into the wall and kept your eyes on the door. It would be hard to sleep tonight. Even knowing Altaïr was keeping watch you worried. Not because you thought him incompetent. You worried because you weren't certain what Jerusalem held for him. Or what it held for you.

You let Eagle Vision scan the area, finding him posted on the roof above. He pulled his attention away from the endless desert to stare down at his hands. Whatever thoughts plagued him, he would keep them close.

~:~

It was early morning when you arrived. The sun was a pale jewel of soft orange on the horizon, casting brilliant hues and shadows out across the desert and over the cluttered structures of the city. Jerusalem was the largest city you'd ever laid eyes upon.

Inside were the voices of varying degrees and languages. It was filled with a sickening array of scents from the markets and the dying poor. The closer the two of you came upon the Assassin's Bureau the better the atmosphere of the city became. You could even smell the floral scents of chamomile and juniper carried on the wind from the middle district.

Altaïr led the way into the bureau, dropping down into the sunlit foyer. He looked back at you as if he were somewhat hesitant to enter alone. He sauntered ahead and you followed close at his heels. His tone rang somewhat hollow but their was a slight hint of joy, "Safety and peace, Malik."

He rolled his eyes up from the papers scattered along the counter. "Your presence here deprives me of both." He looked at you and the anger softened only a fraction. "What do you want?"

Altaïr paced in front of the counter. "Al Mualim has asked--"

"Asked that you perform some menial task to redeem yourself." Malik eyed Altaïr bitterly, as if the menial task were an insult to him. Altaïr had gotten his brother killed and his only punishment were a few simple missions. "So out with it then."

Altaïr's hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white and you stepped beside him before he could say something he'd regret. He took down a sharp breath when your hand brushed across his. "Tell me what you can about the one they call Talal."

"It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altaïr. Not mine." He focused his attention back to the papers as if he were finished with the conversation.

You reached your hand out and placed it upon the papers. Your voice was gentle, as sweet as you could make it, "Is it not your duty as Rafiq to assist us? You are of the Order, too, are you not?"

Malik's lips pulled taught into an irritated grimace but he had heard yours words well enough. "I can think of three places: south of here in the markets that line the border between the Muslim and Jewish districts, to the north near the mosque, and to the east in front of St. Anne's church."

Altaïr's tone was bitter but you could hear his failing effort to remain calm, "Is that everything?"

His words were a harsh staccato on the tip of his tongue, "It is enough to get you started and far more than you deserve." Malik tossed his hand, nearly on the verge of throwing something.

Altaïr stepped away from the counter, expecting you to follow and halted when you didn't. He glanced you over for some sign of an answer. "You will remain here?"

"I have a mission of my own." You gave him a slight nod. "I will meet you back here in a few hours."

He faced you fully now, strode a few steps forward. "You would go alone? Your arm is still too weak to be of use to you."

You looked at him squarely, determined to console him but not to give in. "I am only going to survey what I need. We will meet up and finish the task together." You wanted to reach out and press your hand against his arm but you resisted.

His eyes narrowed as if he didn't believe you. "Noon," he ordered it. "You will be here at noon." He hesitated, attention flicking to Malik before turning and leaving the room.

You waited for Altaïr's boots to scuff across the smooth stone before directing your attention to Malik. "There was a ship full of slaves that left Al-Rahman. It was ordered by the Templar Tahir. I need information to where that ship sailed."

"Yes, yes." He lifted one of the parchments from the counter. "This was all that I could collect." Malik held onto it firmly in his hand. His eyes were unwavered and bitter. "Do you know what Altaïr has done? Are you aware of what he will do to you?"

You lifted your chin a bit higher. You knew your words would not reach him but you stated them all the same. "He regrets what happened."

"He regrets only that he did not succeed in killing a man. He does not regret the loss of my brother in the least." Malik slammed the paper and pushed it towards you. "There is an archive beneath the prisons. It will hold the ship's manifest that you seek."

"Archive." You rose a brow. "What else is in this archive?"

"It belongs to the Templars. They catalog most of their dealings within its walls." He stepped away from the counter and grabbed a book down from one of the shelves nearest to him. "It won't be guarded for some time. Many of the guards are busy elsewhere in the city. You have a small window of time to break in."

You grabbed the parchment and slipped it into your robes. "How small is this window?"

Malik looked up from his book and forced himself to be gentler with his words. "The guards are being kept busy with an issue in the Rich district. The moment that issue is resolved..."

"I see." You should have waited for Altaïr but... You needed that manifest. You needed to know where the ship sailed to. "If I am not back by this evening... inform Altaïr where I have gone."

"For your safety I shall not. I can not let you walk into danger. Not now that I know you are wounded." Malik held his gaze firm with yours. There was no room for argument. "He will know your location when he returns."

You gave a firm nod before hurrying out of the building. Getting in and out of the prison undetected would be the greatest of your challenges. This was an unfamiliar city filled with unfamiliar people. You would need information about the building's structure and layout. Surely there was some lower level entrance known only by a few people.


	18. Clipped Wings

You had watched the massive prison for some time, a graphite gray structure dark against the sandstone city. You gathered words here and there from passing soldiers and you offered coin to any beggar that would give you information. You learned of a sewer entrance on the east side of the building that led straight into the lowest levels and nearest to your objective.

You worked your way around the small patrols and followed the foul tunnels into the belly of the fort. It was eerily silent save the drips of water and the occasional rat that scurried across the stone edges of the tunnel. Luckily the labyrinth led right into the dungeon, rows upon rows of prison cells and they were all filled with mindless and wasting men.

You skirted along the shadows, evading the few guards that passed by. They were lazy and complacent, hardly expecting anyone to target the prisons. And why would they? But their laziness made them a fine target.

You reached out from the shadows of your nook and wrapped a hand over his mouth. Your other arm hooked across his neck, anchoring him against you. He struggled but you had an advantage over him. You squeezed his throat until he relented. "Where are the archives? How do I get to them?"

"Archives?" He shifted his weight nervously against you.

You remained calm, your voice holding steady, "They are below this floor. How do I reach them?"

He hesitated, as if he didn't realize there was an archive in the lowest level. “Let me go. I’ll take you there.” He tried to struggle again with fear and uncertainty setting in.

You couldn’t take him and risk his presence drawing attention. You pressed the tip of the hidden blade against his skin as a warning which easily convinced him to quiet. “Tell me where they are.”

"The stairs. At the end of the hall." Before he could plead for his life or protest again, the blade thrusted forward and ended his words. You couldn't let him live and there was no time to strangle him.

You hurried forward, relying on Eagle Vision to show you how many guards remained. You sauntered through the rest of the hall, finding it empty as you reached the stairs. Shockingly, no one was posted downstairs guarding the entrance. The door, however, was locked and you didn't have time to search for the key.

You used the short blade to pry between the stone and wood, wrenching it fervently until the latch gave way and broke. The door swung open, nearly clapping into the wall behind it but you grabbed hold of it just in time. You stalked cautiously through the room, yours eyes weaving across bookshelves, countless priceless artifacts and numerous tomes. There were so many books that you couldn’t have counted them if you stayed down there for days.

You analyzed each shelf and stepped towards those that had the least amount of dust, the books and tomes that were most recently placed or used. You then took note of how everything was organized. Shipping manifests for every major city and all of its satellites were posted behind a desk, al-Rahman was thrown together with Damascus. You grabbed the entirety of the large manifest and tied it down onto your back with your sash, creating a poorly made bag.

There was another door in the room and you had hoped it would lead to another exit. You let your Eagle Vision sweep throughout the chamber before prying the door open and peeking inside. Prison cells, you realized and you pushed the door further. There was only a few prisoners and you planned to leave them to their fate until…

You barely made out the faded red and dingy white of Assassins robes. He was stripped of all weapons and gear, left to be humiliated in the barest of his tunics. You debated with yourself because you were running out of time and his weight would slow you down.

You hung your head low, shoulder leaning into the doorway. You killed that guard. And now, here you were planning on leaving an innocent man behind.

You snapped up the set of keys that hung on the wall and marched towards his cell. You unlocked it and threw open the gate. He was too weak to even bother looking up at you for answers. He was all bones and skin. A few scattered scars showed signs of times, recently healing ones and others having healed long ago.

You kneeled down in front of him and lifted his chin so that he could peer up at you. "Can you tell me your name?"

His eyes were empty. His lips parted but only breathy mumblings passed them.

You hooked his arm around your shoulder and began to heave up his lifeless weight. His legs couldn't take standing on their own, staggering forward which caused you to stumble as well. You were forced to catch yourself, a hand sliding downwards across the sleek moldy walls. "If you want to live," you hissed under your breath, your supporting hand slipping. "Start working with me."

He groaned, shaky legs trying to take some of his mass as the two of you ungracefully waltzed onward. You tried to follow the same path, waiting patiently for patrols to pass by. Eagle Vision was your greatest weapon and your best chance at sneaking back out with the half-dead weight slowing you down. His stumbles and grunts weren’t helping either. You could only hope the noises he made were muffled by the prisoners.

You made it back towards the empty sewers but in your absence a guard had wandered into them. There was no nook or shadow for you to hide in, at least not with both you and the stranger. You set the Assassin down, slumped him against the wall.

You drew your shortsword and squeezed hold of the hilt. You thought back on the fight between Altaïr and you, remembering the tactics you'd used to gain some advantage. A guard wouldn't be as skilled as Altaïr and hopefully that meant you could overtake him.

"You there!" He drew his longsword and swaggered forward. "Halt! This area is restricted!"

You rotated your wrists, preparing them for the upcoming fight. You were wounded, you reminded yourself, but you weren't useless. You could take him on if it meant saving yourself and the other Assassin. But the guard's steps wavered and he dropped to his knees, a guttural noise escaping his throat.

Altaïr forcefully sheathed his dagger, words a bitter staccato, "You were supposed to only survey the area." His steps were heavy and his shoulders were stiff, making him look like a great wolf before the kill. He was angry and you didn't need to see his face to know it.

"I know." You sheathed your sword and tossed a hand towards the nameless youth. You calmed your breathing, trying to sound half as tired as you really were. "He was in the Templar prison. Can you help me with his weight?"

His hand fell onto your shoulder then disappeared just as quickly. He eyed the young man and kneeled down. He was silent for a long moment before gathering the man into his arms. "We will take him to the Bureau." His head was bowed so you couldn't make out Altaïr's features but his walk told you he was still bitter at you.

"Altaïr," you spoke it under your breath.

He hadn't even twitched at the sound of his name nor did he halt in his march through the sewers. His mind was elsewhere, clouded with plaguing thoughts. You tried to read his body language, to examine his movements and the hard pressed line of his lips.

You said it more firmly, more determined, "Altaïr. I am sorry. I needed to get in there before the window of opportunity closed. If I had waited for you it would have been more dangerous."

He slowed into a light stroll once the both of you were out of the sewers, skirting the citadel’s base. He tilted his head just enough that he could peer past his hood. "I know this. I am not angry with you."

You reached up and snapped hold of his sleeve. "Then what is wrong?"

He held the body tighter in his arms, jostling the heavy weight. "This man... He is Malik's brother, Kadar."

Your gaze jolted to the scrawny man, his face half sunken and his breathing ragged.

Altaïr continued his trek away from the prison's shadow. He snaked along the city's wall, using the building's alleyways to keep away from the guard's scrutiny. He knew just where to turn and what areas were best for hiding. You followed him wordlessly to the Bureau and watched as Altaïr laid his weight down on the earth.

"We must both carry him onto the roof." Altaïr kneeled down over the man and waited for your reply. You gave a nod and sighed, a sickening knot in your stomach. You didn't dare think what emotions would assault Malik when he saw his brother this way: rage, relief, agony.

It was an awkward limbo, hauling up Kadar's body over crates and up onto the roof. Getting him into the Bureau proved the greatest challenge. The two of you nearly dropped him, rearranging his weight just before the final descent. You eased him down onto the various pillows and stopped Altaïr before he could run off and fetch the older brother.

"He will need a doctor," you whispered and you tried your hardest not to look upon Kadar's face. "I will go back out there and get one."

"No." Altaïr took hold of your hands in his. "I will. First, I must inform Malik. You must stay here and help him. You would be of more use here than I."

You clenched your jaw and nodded. Altaïr didn't want to be left alone with Malik. The conversation that might occur, the argument that might break him. You walked with Altaïr into the den, your eyes on your hands when Altaïr approached the Rafiq.

"Well, I see that you have found her." Malik leaned sideways into the counter. "Was the mission a success?"

You swallowed the knot in your throat. "Yes. I…” Your eyes flickered up to his expression and you found it difficult to tell him the whole truth. “I found a book full of manifests that I can share with the Order..."

"Malik." Altaïr's shaky hands hovered over the countertop before finally settling onto it. "There was a prisoner that she rescued... I believe… that it may be Kadar."

Malik huffed breathily but then it was quickly choked on. "What? What sort of joke is this. Altaïr?" He stormed over the counter with the full intention of hurting the other Assassin but before he could reach him your arms grappled around Malik’s tense and rigid body. He froze, a grief consuming him.

"Kadar is out there. He needs help." You loosened your hold on him, stepped out of the way so he could get a view of the sunlit room. "Altaïr is going to go and fetch medical help."

Malik narrowed his eyes, trying desperately to see his brother in the husk before him. He staggered forward, tears wetting his cheeks and his knees buckling underneath him until they hit the hard stone floor. He bowed over with his forehead pressed into the dusty ground. "Kadar."

"Go." You grabbed Altaïr's arm and tugged him towards the roofs opening, dragging him away from the scene. "Get help. I'll handle things here."

Altaïr didn't wait. He didn't hesitate. He hurried out of the building as you kneeled down besides Malik. You placed yours hands down onto his back, feeling his body tremble from crying. You stayed with him a moment longer before hurrying off to gather a clay pitcher and cup into your arms.

Kadar needed help. He would need water and food, something to give him energy again. The doctor could take over when he arrived but until then you needed to do something. You needed to do anything so long as it wasn't sitting around waiting.

“Malik. He needs water.” You set everything down next to the sickly youth. “I need your help to give it to him.”

The Rafiq remained where he was, silently rocking back and forth, clenched eyes moistening the earth.

“Malik.” You placed your hand onto his shoulder and wrapped fingers around his banish, tugging irritably at it. “Get up and help me.”

Malik organized his senses. He gave a few sniffs before angrily swiping hands across his face. He stood up, back stiff and head high. He gathered Kadar into his lap and helped you get water to the man's lips. The younger brother took a few lazy swallows, hardly enough water to satisfy him but it would be enough for the time being.

Malik mumbled a hesitant, "Thank you." His fingers dug into his brother's frayed and dirtied tunic. He said it more firmly, "Thank you."

You mindlessly nodded. "I only saved a fellow Assassin. I didn't know..."

Malik looked at you square in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "You saved my brother. You brought him back to me whether you knew it or not.” His eyes were reddened from crying but his features were hardened with resolution.

You gave a slow nod in confirmation, getting to your feet just as the doctor was descending into the building. You moved out of his way and climbed up onto the bureau’s rooftop. Altaïr stood at its edge, eyes sweeping out across the endless field of cluttered buildings awashed in the pale pinks of the evening sunlight.

“Altaïr…” You tilted your head, hoping to peer past his hood to see his expression. But Altaïr turned his head away, even began to make a step to leave but you snapped hold of his arm. You spoke the words with determination, “Don’t you dare hide from me.”

Altaïr was still, unmoved for the longest moment. You thought at first that he was angry with you for touching him but then he turned around to face you. His hood still made it difficult to see his emotions but his arms encasing around you said enough. His head dipped down and buried into the curve of your neck, hot tears moistening your skin.

You pressed your chin into the firm muscle of his shoulder. “Kadar will live and Malik will have his brother.”

His hold around you tightened desperately. He said nothing, made no efforts to mutter any explanations. He only held onto you, fingerbones curling around the cloth of your tunic.

Boots scuffed onto the roof and Altaïr’s hold jolted away. The Assassin tried to turn away and hide what the two of you had been doing. You held your breath, your eyes sweeping over to Malik’s intense stare. He seemed stunned for a moment, uncertain at what he saw then waved a hand towards the entrance. “Come. The two of you have not yet eaten.”

“Thank you, Malik. You will join us, I hope.” You peered over at Altaïr then walked towards the Rafiq. “Speak with him, please.” You placed a hand onto his shoulder before leaping down and leaving the two alone.


	19. The Choice of Predator and Prey

You’d been up all night with Malik and Altaïr, drinking and telling stories, making Altaïr the butt of most jokes. Eventually the night came to a close and Malik left to take care of Kadar in one of the back rooms. Altaïr and you moved to the foyer to sleep but you found yourself uneasy, the manifest finally in reach and the ship that much closer to being tracked down.

You sat up quietly as to not wake Altaïr. You read over the shipping manifest again, memorizing the name of the ship and the city it sailed to. You memorized the name of the ship’s captain until your eyes burned with the need for sleep. You’d arranged passage earlier that day, a ship’s captain agreeing to make the stop where you needed to go, an exchange of coin and information for his services.

Altaïr reached out, arms sliding around your waist and pulling you closer to him. He moaned something incoherent before reaching up and snatching the book from you. “You can read it later. You are with me right now.”

You gasped when he tossed the book across the floor. “Truly?”

“You are going to leave me soon.” Altaïr’s hands tugged at your hips, pulling you downwards across the floor until you were lying next to him. He ignored your laughter and protests, moving his hips over yours and pinning you firmly where you were. “This moment is still mine.”

Your lips pulled taut into a wide smile, eager to forget the daunting task you had ahead of you. “And what shall you do with this ‘moment’, Oh Great and Powerful Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad?”

His head dipped downwards, lips brushing across your cheek to your ear. “Whatever I please.” His hot breath moistened the skin along the bend of your neck, pooling a heavy weight low in your abdomen. “Can I convince you stay? A few more days? Just until Kadar is better.”

“Altaïr...” Your smile faded, your heart sinking suddenly. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“You could.” He stilled, his breath wavering in his lungs. Even his hands were steady as they gripped your waist. “You simply choose not to.”

Your eyes narrowed and your teeth clenched. “Choose? This is not a matter of something so trivial as getting dressed. It’s not the difference between wearing red or orange. It’s someone’s life.”

“Those people--”

You shoved him, forced him to look you square in the eye. You met his gaze with a blistering fury. “My people.”

“And how are they ‘your’ people?” He had been bordering on annoyed until that moment. An anger consumed him, fueled by your own when you didn’t back down. “You are not some ‘guardian’ or their ‘protector’. You were just a vigilante patrolling their streets.”

“This ‘vigilante’ is going to find them and bring them home. Even if it means sailing across a sea to a foreign country to get them.” You growled and snagged the closest pillow, throwing it hard into the closest wall. You scurried to your feet in order to get as far away from Altaïr as possible.

“Even if you left now, they have likely already been bought and sold.” Altaïr just as quickly stood, more interested in following you than giving you space.

You spun on your heel and faced him. “So I should what? Give up?”

“I am not suggesting that you give up on helping ‘your’ people. But should you not focus your efforts on the ones you can save rather than the ones you’ve lost?”

“They’re not lost!” You marched forward, fingers shoved into his chest as he took a reluctant step back. “They were stolen! Their fate was stolen from them. Their lives were decided for them. I will not just leave them to their suffering and so easily forget them like the rest of the world has.”

Altaïr opened his mouth to speak but you didn’t stay to listen to whatever excuse or retort he might have offered. The both of you were too heated to say anything of practical use. You were emotional and you had every right to be. You weren’t ‘choosing’ to leave Altaïr. You had to leave because no one else would bother to save a bunch of beggars. No one else even cared that they were gone… not even Altaïr.

And when you reached the docks outside of Jerusalem, when you hesitated in the faint light of morning, a part of you hoped that Altaïr would show up and apologize. You watched, unmoving, as the sun ascended through the pastel hues of lavender and pink. It wasn’t until sailors began to corral the walkways that you finally pulled your gaze from the spectacle. You reached up and pulled the hood over your head, tugged the scarf over your mouth then weaved your way to the ship.

The captain was just making his way to the helm when he caught sight of you. He gave you an affirmative nod, welcoming you to the vessel, before sweeping his attention to the quartermaster. Their conversation appeared meager, an exchange of information about this and that, nothing you needed to eavesdrop on.

You slipped into the belly of the ship and made your way to the cabin offered to you by the captain. It would be home for the next three weeks, the strangest and loneliest home you would have ever known. Al-Rahman had been somewhat lonely but you always had the people to keep you company, the markets filled with their customers and the gardens lightened by the laughs of endearing couples. Even Masyaf had Nizar and Rauf to keep you entertained, Abbas when he wasn’t being over critical about Altaïr.

You dropped into the closest chair, sinking down into it when you replayed your heated words to Altaïr. He always had a way of flustering you, of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Your eyes clenched shut when you also remembered that he didn’t chase after you. Perhaps he thought it best to let your anger settle. Or perhaps, worst of all, he wanted nothing more to do with you.

It wasn’t until the ship was rocking heavily against wind and waves that you considered it: Altaïr might be waiting in the bureau for you to return, thinking that you had only left to get some fresh air to clear your head. What if he didn’t realize you left for the docks, that you boarded the ship to France?

You sauntered out of the cabin to the top deck, your eyes sweeping out across open water, the thin strip of land fading away from view. You swallowed the tightening knot in your throat. It would be three weeks until you saw land again. It would be longer until you returned to Jerusalem, to Altaïr.

You could write to him. It would be some time until he received your letters but… You couldn’t leave things the way they were. You had to somehow remind him that you weren’t abandoning him. You especially wanted to settle whatever fears might plague him about your sudden absence.

~:~

A week into the journey, seven unbearably long days, seemed to lengthen into eternity. The harsh bite of salt air and the constant swaying of the ship kept you in a state of rigid annoyance. You swallowed numerous times throughout the day but the sea air had already stained your throat. And no amount of drink nor food would rid you of the taste.

You tried to spend your time writing to Altaïr, to form even a sentence that was worthy of him but… You couldn't find the words you needed to say, the feelings you wanted to share. The more you tried to apologize the angrier you became. Why should you be the one to apologize? Altaïr had spoken heated words as well. He had as much to be sorry about as you did.

You pressed the last piece of your parchment between your fingers, looked at its blank tan surface for answers. You folded it neatly and slipped it into your robes. You would write another day, a day when your anger was gone and your mind was clear. You would write to him when you had something truly worth writing about: the safety of your people, your glorious return to Masyaf, your need to see him again after being away for so long.

Two more weeks passed by and your impatience ruffled into irritation. You were growing fond of the sea air but resented the long journey. You were ready make land, to reach France’s shore and the slave markets where your people were being sold. You were determined to do what was necessary to get your people back home, no matter the cost.

You greeted the captain with a meager nod, an exchange of glances before you turned your attention to the nearing cliffs, the white stone towers and citadel walls. The waters were like cool gems of teal and turquoise, glinting beneath the sun. Your eyes had never seen something so pristine and serene. But you also reminded yourself that this place had bought your people, willingly took their freedom.

The captain strolled to your side, hands resting lightly on his hips. “We will wait for you here at the docks as agreed upon. It will take my men a few days to unload our cargo but there should be enough room for your… packages.”

You peered over at him, noted the calmness in his stance and gentleness in his eyes. He wasn’t concerned or worried. So long as he got his coin, he was perfectly alright with upsetting local authorities. “It may take me a few days to locate the packages. Are you willing to wait longer? Are your men willing to wait?”

His lips pulled back into a grin. “The amount of coin you’ve promised us? I’ll wait as long as you need, sweetheart.”

“Good.” You stepped back then spun away from the conversation, marching to the other side of the ship where the gangway was being lowered. Your boots clattered against the dusty wood, down along the docks through the boisterous markets, foreign words mingling into a single sound.

You worked your way from one side of the markets to the other, seeking languidly the name of the ship you were looking for. There, bobbing on the water’s surface, was the ship that sailed away with your people. You watched the Isabella for some amount of time, taking note of who remained on deck and where her captain was when he returned from somewhere further in land.

You were a hawk, watching her prey for the perfect moment before the strike. And when it came, you were quiet, melting into the crowds of sailors and slipping into the shadow cast by the stern of the ship. You pulled the smallest of your blades from your belt, worked the thin metal in between the window frame until it popped. Each movement was precise, delicate, as you eased open the small window and climbed inside.

He sat hunched over at his desk, pen scratching away messily, hardly aware that a dagger was moving towards his throat. You pressed the cold metal to his skin just as your other hand gripped firmly the roots of his hair.

You tugged sharply when he opened his mouth to shout for help. “Careful, Captain. I’d hate to have to kill your men because of your selfish ignorance.”

He gave a strangled laugh but kept quiet, stayed rigid beneath your control.

You leaned forward, pressed your form against his back to remind him how close you were. “You recently brought a shipment of people here. Where are they now?”

“The slaves?” He tried to look over his shoulder at you but gave up quickly when the blade tapped against his adam’s apple. “I don’t understand. You’re here about the slaves?”

“Where?” You thought the dagger had made it clear that you weren’t in the mood to waste time. “You sold them to someone. Who was it?”

He was bitter, suddenly angrier than before. “The markets, girl. I sold them to the slaver and he sold them to whoever was rich enough to take them.” He balled his hands into fists, paper and pen feeling the brunt of his anger. “And before you slit my throat, I’d like some answers.”

Your voice dropped to a harsh whisper, “You do not deserve answers. You kidnapped people from the home…”

“Kidnapped?” His body tensed, shoulder stiffening up around his neck. “You are the ignorant one. Those people were sold to me by their government. They weren’t ‘kidnapped’. You can tell whoever you work for that I bought them fairly. And sold them fairly.”

Your brows pinched, lips pulled taut into a grimace. “You can not buy people!”

He scoffed, gave a toss of his head.

“A mother and her daughter…” You forced your rage to soften, tried to sound gentler. “Were they amongst the people you took?”

He seemed to ease as well, perhaps even felt a twinge of remorse. “There were a few mothers. Only one with a daughter though. They didn’t make it. Both of them were sickly long before I ever got sight of them.”

“Dead…” You had fought so hard to reach them. You had hoped that you could have returned them home. She had helped you many times, led you where you needed to be, guided you to alleys where corrupted guards were extorting the people. She’d saved lives and you couldn’t have been there in time for her. “Why? Why would you deal in slaves? Why would you sell people as if they were items?”

“You see slavery. I see purpose.” His fists relaxed, the pen tossed aside. “Those people were wasting away. They were dying. No one was going to do anything for them. They have a purpose now. They work for their masters and in turn they get a roof over their head and food in their bellies. What do you care what happens to them?”

“They should have been given a choice…” But your words felt hollow suddenly. He had been correct. It was hard to admit but he was correct. If they’d remained in al-Rahman then they would have wasted away. No one cared about the beggars. “They’re my people. I will make sure they are given a choice.”

“They’re likely halfway across the countryside by now.”

“Then I will hunt, far and wide, if I must.”

He gave an exasperated sigh, a tilt of his head. “They have a better life here. Who are you to take it from them?”

Your anger swelled, your blade knicking the skin when you tightened your grasp. “Who are you to decide they are happier in a foreign land?”

“A realist,” he casually replied. “Now. Are you going to let me live?”

You squeezed the hilt of your dagger, felt the bones of your fingers creak against the action. “I should kill you. I want to kill you. But I won’t. If you ever return to al-Rahman, I will not hesitate the second time.”

As swiftly as you could manage, you pulled back your dagger and slipped through the ship’s window. You melted back into the crowd just as easily as you’d done your whole life. You would go to the markets. You would find your people. You would bring them home. Then, you would find the person who dared to sell them and give them the choice they didn’t bother to give others.


	20. The Hawk Arisen

You hunted. They were easy prey. None of them had expected you or really anyone to come looking for the slaves. Even the slave traders in the markets had thought themselves safe. So when you approached each of them with the captain at your side, a translator to ask where the slaves were sold, they thought you were a buyer. They offered to sell you different slaves, cheaper labor that would work just as hard.

You killed each of them. You got the information you needed and perhaps out of revenge you took their lives. Or perhaps you wanted to end their business negotiations once and for all. You weren’t thinking about morals, about right and wrong or black and white. You knew in time they would buy more slaves and sell them.

Your eyes swept to the captain, words stated plainly, “I warned you to be prepared. There will be many more deaths ahead of us.”

His expression remained neutral, naturally unconcerned about such things. “As long as I get paid, you can kill their king for all I care.” His hands lifted to the belt around his waist, tucking his fingers into the leather as he waited for the next step in the mission.

“You should be pleased that all the nobles are nearby.” You pulled your hood further over your features, scarf up around your mouth so that none might recognize you. They all knew you were a stranger, every citizen that walked the streets and averted their gaze. You should have hid yourself better. All the teachings you’d learned as a child told you as much. But a part of you wanted them to know you were there. You wanted them to know that you were a predator looking for her charges.

You found the first of the nobles just outside the city walls. He was a wealthy landowner and his slaves worked tirelessly in both the fields and the home. You watched them for some time, determining exactly how things were done on the farm.

You weren’t afraid to approach them. In fact, after kneeling down to the first of the slaves, you offered them your water. “I am sorry it took me so long.”

She lifted her eyes to you, shaky hands taking the water and sipping upon it.

“You are safe now.” Your words were hushed, a mother to a child, a protector to the protected. “I am here to take you home.”

Her whole body sighed beneath those words and her eyes slid shut. Water leaked passed and slid down along her weathered cheeks. “Thank you. My entire family. I’ve lost them. I don’t even know where they are.”

“Were they slaves? Did someone sell them?”

“Yes.” Her hands reached out and gathered around yours. “Please. You must help me find them. I can’t leave without them.”

You stated it, declared it like an oath, “I will find them. I will find all of them.” You swept your gaze out to the others, their eyes trying to avert from the scene but they couldn’t help their curiosity. You rose to your feet and shouted it this time, “I will find all of our people and all of them will come home with me. Return with me to al-Rahman. This captain will take us where we need to go.”

“They’re frightened,” she muttered it, ducking her head away.

You shuddered, noting that some were indeed fearful. Others seemed indifferent. They continued their work as if you weren’t standing before them. “I will kill anyone who gets in our way.”

A man stood up, the bravest of them. “And those of us who wish to stay here?”

You spoke calm, a brow rising. “You want to stay here?”

He lifted his palms with a heated glower. “Here I do not know hunger. Here I do not freeze during the night. I work here and they pay me with food and clothes and shelter. You are asking me to become a beggar again.”

“Stay here if you want. But those who return to al-Rahman with me…” You clenched your jaw, heart weakening under their hopeful stares. You knew they suffered. You did what little that you could. Stealing coin and giving it when you had the opportunity. But al-Rahman had sold them. The city threw them aside. “Those who return with me will never suffer again. Al-Rahman is our city. It belongs to us. Not the nobles. And if we must, we will take it from them.”

It was a promise. You made it the moment you spoke it.

Most of them rose, tossing aside the farming equipment their noble owners gave them. Some hesitated, far too afraid to stand up for themselves even if it was their lives on the line. Even some of the slaves who were taken from other countries followed your lead. But you didn’t force them. It was their choice to make. It was their lives at risk. You couldn’t guarantee their safety either way. At least with you, they could be protected.

The first group came easily. Their noble masters weren’t pleased. They sent the city guard out to find whoever stole their property. Or to return what property decided to run away. You killed the guards that found the ship and made sure their bodies were carefully and covertly placed on the doorstep of the noble who sent them.

You watched from afar as the aristocrat discovered them, calling upon more guards to investigate whoever it was that dared to go against him. He was foolish enough to believe it was another noble, that some rich fool dared to challenge him for power.

Each night you took another group and every morning some noble thought himself robbed. And each time it happened, they pointed the finger at someone else. You let them squabble amongst each other. If they were focused on the rich and wealthy, they wouldn’t see you coming.

When you only had a single group to retrieve you sent a letter to Altaïr in Masyaf. It was small letter, a brief one that told him only that you were returning. You couldn’t tell him about what happened, about the blood that stained your hands. You didn’t dare mention that there would be more blood to come.

You didn’t tell him how painful it was to leave him behind. You couldn’t bear the idea of hurting him more. But you missed him, having been away from him for over a month. Six weeks, you considered, while sending the letter off with a bird. You watched its flight with hopeful anticipation. Nearly home, you whispered as if Altaïr would somehow hear it.

You led the last group through the city to the docks and just like the other groups you promised them their equality in al-Rahman. The last group boarded the ship just as the city guards were arriving. The nobles thought themselves clever by finally banning together once they realized it wasn’t one of their own.

You stepped off of the ship onto the docks and drew your sword. You tossed a quick glance over your shoulder at the slaves, thin and broken, their eyes nearly hollow. “It won’t be easy taking back al-Rahman from those who would cage you.” You flashed your eyes to the nobles gathered safely behind the wall of guards. “The aristocrats cling to their riches even when it costs them their lives.”

One of the nobles stepped forward, face reddening in rage. Even without the captain’s translation you knew what he was saying, “Return what you’ve taken, brigand. Those are our property.”

“They belong to no one. They belong to al-Rahman and al-Rahman belongs to them.” You marched forward along the docks, boots banging in rhythm with your heart. “I will return them to their homes and nowhere else. And I shall kill all those who stand in our way.”

You barely remembered the battle, an array of swords and daggers. They hoped their armor would protect them but you blades slipped passed their layers of metal to the soft flesh below. The noble didn’t dare remain in the area except for an idiotic few. They were the easiest to kill despite their efforts to cut you down. They weren’t even half your skill and a part of you felt pity for them. They were so desperate to keep their slaves that they died for them.

After the skirmish was over you returned to the ship and gave a nod to the captain. He set sail for home, for the smooth alabaster walls of al-Rahman and her many gardens that flourished throughout each district. You could barely remember the home you had grown up in. It had been months since you’d last seen its shore and months more since walking the streets of a familiar place.

~:~

The entire journey was arduous. The people kept to themselves, sailors too busy with maintaining the ship to care much for talking. The captain wasn’t a talkative man to be with either so the only person they had to rely on was you. And you did what you could. Provided them with blankets on the long cold nights and rations of food when they were hungry.

They sung songs that reminded them of a home, a choir of voices that rose over the sounds of lapping water and sails slapping in the wind. Behind their words and the faint smile when they saw you, there was the fear of having been forgotten. They had been given away like property rather than people.

You pressed your palms into the bannister of the ship. Your shoulders felt knotted from both exhaustion and stress. Three weeks at sea and you knew that al-Rahman would show up on the horizon soon. It was the waiting that bothered you the most.

Her hand was small, thin and calloused. “Is there anything you need?”

You smiled, feeling it reach your eyes. “I’m alright. But thank you.”

“Many of us had lost hope,” she muttered, her touch falling away as he turned her eyes out at sea as well. “Some died on the way there. The rest of us… I thought I’d never see my son again. You returned him to me.”

You focused on the darkness of the water, the way it swelled and pulsed endlessly. “I did only what was right. I will fix this. I will.” You had been the one to leave them. Of course you rescued them. Had you been in al-Rahman to begin with no one would have died.

“You’ve done so much already. I don’t want to see you die.” She stepped towards you, her eyes too afraid to look into your own. “Whatever you needed from us, it is yours.”

You hesitated, muttered it weakly, “Your freedom.” You turned your eyes back out at sea and saw the city as a small speck on the horizon. “Our home.”

The ship grew closer, the taste of dry desert sand on the wind. The city walls reflected like a jewel, luminous and ethereal beneath the intense light of the sun. Your spirits were lifted to see the home you left behind.

“Captain.” You eagerly climbed the steps to the his side just as he was steering the ship towards the docks. You pushed back your hood, your words softer to him than they’d ever been, “Everything I have will be yours.”

He gave a huff, words harsh but he was pleased, “For all the trouble we went through it better be. I’ll be in port until you pay up. Don’t make me find you--”

You chuckled and drew the hood up, the black cloth fighting back the harsh heat of the sun. “I’ll pay you captain. If it takes me my whole life, you’ll get your coin.”

His threat was empty. He had seen you take down a slew of guards for a couple of ‘slaves’. In his eyes, you were both foolish and mad. He wouldn’t dare challenge you. But he was also aware of your morals. You had done anything to save a bunch of lowlifes. So paying him his due wasn’t without question.

You led the people back towards the city, finding a cluster of homes that were willing to take them in the for the right offering of gold. And you offered quite a great deal of it. The people remained there, protests about being abandoned but they waited while you returned to the city. They trusted your words and your judgement after the ordeal you went through to bring them home.

You walked through the front gates and once the city might have left something sweet in you to return to it. Now, all you saw was the underlying damage that the Templars and nobility had caused. You walked it's familiar alleys and climbed the tallest of the minarets, posting yourself at its peak.

The eagle there took flight, weary at first but recognizing you soon after. It gave off its welcoming cry, a pleased greeting to see your return. You had no offering for the creature but it didn’t seem to mind. It gazed out upon the long stretches of city with the same hungry eyes as yourself. Two patient predators seeking out their prey.

You watched the nobles and the rich merchants, memorizing their faces and routines. They were creatures of habit. It was easy to find a weakness in their guards and in their everyday lives. When you’d see enough, when you learned what you could for the day, you leapt forward into the hay cart below.

You returned to your old house, eager to return to your collection of things and the comforts of home. But as you leapt down through the lattice you sensed that another was present. Your thoughts desperately thought of Altaïr and as you hurried through the foyer to the main entrance, your eyes stared blankly.

The Rafiq behind the counter lifted his gaze to meet with yours. He seemed just as surprised if only slightly. “Welcome. You must be her?”

You straightened your back, the muscles coiling as you grew tense. “The person who lives here? Yes, I am her.”

His brows jolted, suddenly nervous about the matter. “I apologize. I was under the impression that you were of the Order now? Living in Masayaf?” Something about his tone, about the way he spoke alarmed you. He was fishing for a response, for answers to an underlying question. He wanted to know your loyalties.

You tucked your hands behind your back, casually walking further into the home. You swept your attention to the shelves where all of your things were still gathered. “Well, I’m glad to see something of my own still remains.”

He gave slight chuckle and he folded his arms onto the counter. “It was a beautiful collection. I would hate to throw it away.”

You smiled but it only just barely lingered on your lips. You turned and faced him, swaggering over towards the counter. “I seek information, Rafiq. What can you tell me of the nobles living here in the city?”

“To business then.” He straightened up, palms flat onto the smooth surface as he leaned forward. “The nobility here in the city have gained considerable influence through the Templars. Their loyalties with Europe have increased. France. Italy. They seek to expand their trade both on land and sea. Most have increased their wealth but we can not contend as to how.”

“Slavery,” you stated, plain and bold. “The Templars. Who is leading them?”

He wasn’t offended by your brashness, although he didn’t seem stunned. “A man who goes by the name Tahir. He was visiting one of the wealthiest nobles. Nassar deals in trading spices as well as supplies for the crusades. Tahir, however, left the city a week ago, I am afraid. His return is unknown as of now.”

“I shall learn what I can of his lord then.” You sashayed away from him, steps as calm and tranquil as you could make them. “I shall rest here and leave in the morning. If you don’t mind, of course.”

He lifted his hand to his heart and bowed his head. “This is my home just as much as it is yours, sister.”

You bowed your head in return. You entered the foyer and sat down onto the babbling fountain against the wall. You removed your belts and weapons, tossing them aside before slipping out of your tunic. It had been some time since all of your gear had been cleaned properly. Both unfamiliarity and anxiety kept you from doing so on the ship.

You removed the last of your attire and dipped it into the cool water. You squeezed out dirt and sweat from the linen before using it to wash clean your skin. You rubbed down your face and arms, cold water soothing compared to the harsh heat. But your hand halted when it reached your stomach, a barely notable roundness forming there. You hadn’t noticed it with the innumerable layers of clothes.

You pushed the idea aside, focusing on cleaning the rest of yourself. How long had it even been since then? Two months? Perhaps more?

~:~

You slept little during the night. Both because of the weight of your promise to the people of al-Rahman but also the chilling notion that if you died… it wouldn’t be just your life lost in the aftermath. You also couldn’t be certain how much the Order knew about what occurred in France. You couldn’t be certain if Altaïr was already made aware of your betrayal. He hadn’t yet arrived but then again he might have stayed in Masyaf to wait for your return.

In the morning the left the bureau without speaking to the Rafiq. He’d already given you everything you needed to know. You knew for certain that the wealthiest people in the city sold its own citizens to a foreign country all for the sake of increasing the coffers. You knew now that they were working with Templars as well. With that knowledge, you determined your enemy. You would give them a choice to right their wrong and if they failed, you would do what was best for al-Rahman.

You posted yourself outside of the palace and watched the guards and they patrolled leisurely. They thought the building safe, that al-Rahman was in a peaceful state of mind. Their complacency would make your task all the easier and it would prevent a great deal of blood from spilling.

Eagle Vision swept outwards, rolling across stone and wood to peel back the world and reveal the location of every guard and innocent bystander. There was only one person you were looking for. Nassar. You saw him moving through the estates halls without hesitation. He was a confident man who had everything he could ever want and more. He had no reason to fear for his life.

You avoided the guard patrols, ascended the smooth stone walls. Your vision blooming outwards to see where the pieces on the board had moved. Nassar was in his study, standing hunched over his desk, scribbling away on parchment. And there was hardly a guard around to hear him should he protest.

You opened the wooden grating over the window to his study. You stepped inside with hushed steps, watching your prey as he continued his work. He suspected nothing. His muscles were tense but only because letter was filling with heated words. So when you reached around and pressed the tip of your hidden blade to his neck, his pen stilled against the paper.

“Nassar. You sold your own people into slavery for gold. You took them from their homes, stole them from the streets. You took the weak and sick without caring that they might die on the way to a foreign land.”

He swallowed harshly as he dropped his pen. “Those people--”

“Your people. Al-Rahman’s people.” You tightened your hold on his neck, the cold metal pressed harder. You knew your next words would upset him and he’d want to retaliate. “The gold that you made from their suffering belongs to them now. You have two days to relinquish all that you own. Gold. Jewels. Silks. They belong to the people. If you do not give up your gold then you give up your life. The choice is yours.”

Your touch on him vanished and you made certain that you were leaping out the windows just as he was turning around. He only glimpsed your eyes, your hood and mask expertly hiding away everything else. But it was enough. He knew your seriousness, his expression said as much.

You were gone long before the guards were called. You posted yourself high above the city, a gargoyle leering over the rich district in anticipation. Nassar’s orders were clear. The city was on lockdown. No one would enter al-Rahman and no one would leave. You knew his first reaction would be to find you, a desperate attempt to deny your words but eventually he would have to accept the truth. He only had two days after all.

When you saw enough and the sun was setting you left the palace behind. You returned to the poor district and to the your childhood home. You leapt down through the open lattice and breathed deep the sweet scents of burning sandalwood incense. You dipped your heated hands into the cold water of the fountain and splashed away the sand and sweat.

You heard his steps before you looked up to see him. You released a gentle sigh and stepped towards him, “Altaïr.”

His expression was hardened. He was hiding his thoughts behind year of training. “We need to speak. Outside.”

Your eyes trailed towards the main part of the hovel where the Rafiq was likely listening in. “Yes. Come.” You turned and climbed up the fountain towards the wooden lattice. You pulled yourself up the rest of the way and waited for Altaïr to join you.

His hand gripped tightly to your elbow and lead you away from the bureau. “I do not have much time. I am needed elsewhere.” He stopped sharply, attention darting towards the building you’d both left behind. “You have broken Al Mualim’s laws. You have broken the Creed. If you continue this path, I can not say for certain what will happen.”

“Altaïr. Everything I’ve done--”

His hands dropped onto your shoulders and shook them. “Tell me what I heard is a lie. That you did not murder a slew of people in France.”

“They gave me no choice.”

“The person I knew you as would have found a way. She would not have taken lives needlessly. What happened to the person who stopped me from killing a guard?” His brows flattened over his eyes, furrowed by his frustration. “Have you forgotten everything your father taught you?”

You voice rose, shame and rage swelling together as one. “Innocent lives were at risk.”

“And here? Did you not threaten the life of a noble?” He leaned forward in a desperate attempt to hold his gaze to yours. “The Order has called you a traitor. If you leave for Masyaf now, Al Mualim may be lenient. Saif may be able to persuade him”

You stepped back and gave a meager shake of your head. You clenched your fists at your side, a deep breath of air expanding in your chest. “I made a promise to my people. I promised them a proper home. I promised them that the people who sold them would pay for what they did.”

“You risk the brotherhood. You risk your life.” He turned away and paced across the flat rooftop. “I can not protect you from Al Mualim if you do this.”

“I won’t need you to protect me.” You raised your head and pressed down your shoulders. You tried to stand taller but under his heated gaze you felt sick and weak. “I have to do this. You of all people should understand. These people need someone to protect them. Wasn’t that the purpose of the Order?”

“Peace is our purpose.” Altaïr’s words softened and he finally dared to step towards you. “What you are doing will bring war. You will doom all of these people to death.” His hands lifted to cup against your face, warmth enveloping your skin. “I need the woman I fell in love with. I need the one who believed that all lives were important.”

You eyes fluttered against the tears that threatened. “I can’t…”

His lips screwed downwards into a pained frown.

“Children died, Altaïr. Mothers wept as their children were pulled from their arms to serve a different house.” You shook your head when his touch loosened. You painfully watched as he backed away, his brows sinking under the weight of agony. “I can not leave my home city until I know it is safe for everyone. The nobles grow richer from the suffering of the people they were supposed to protect.”

“It is not so simple.” His eyes rolled closed. “Your attack in France has caused repercussions. If trade ceases in al-Rahman, everyone will suffer and grow hungry.”

Your hardened your expression and steadied your breath. You ignored the hollow pit in your chest. “Then they shouldn’t have sold its people.” You clenched your jaw and nearly choked on your next words, “Al Mualim can do what he wants with me. But first, al-Rahman will belong to its people.”

He turned his head away and pulled up his hood, shadow hiding away whatever emotions flashed across his features. “I must leave. I have my own task that needs me.”

“Altaïr.”

He halted his step and peered over his shoulder, his face still hidden so that you couldn’t determine his state of mind.

You had so much that you needed to say, things that couldn’t be spoken with only a few minutes. You needed to tell him that you were not only sorry for leaving without saying goodbye but also that you weren’t heeding his advice. You wanted to go with him. You wanted to set aside the burden but you couldn’t. You wanted him to remain with you but he had his own burdens to bear.

“Forgive me.”

He turned his attention forward and stepped to the edge of the roof. “I shall forgive you only should you do not get yourself killed.” He dropped down to the streets below, the white of his robes brightening beneath the swollen full moon.

“Forgive me,” you muttered again. You hadn’t told him you were with child because you knew he wouldn’t have been able to leave. He wouldn’t have allowed you to risk your life as well as the child’s. Especially not without him.


	21. The Hawk of al-Rahman

You gave a long sigh, eyes slipped closed as Eagle Vision was released. Two days you had told Nassar. And in that time not once did he attempt to relinquish his wealth. He doubled the guards around him, thinking that you couldn’t possibly take them all on. He thought himself safe so long as his bodyguards were around. It made the whole notion of sneaking inside a waste of time. They were all aware of your upcoming arrival.

You’d hoped to avoid more death but each step you tried to make towards your goal seemed riddled with it. You couldn’t merely blackmail Nassar. The whole city was already aware of the slavery. The nobles and the merchants endorsed it. A way to clean up the poor district, they said. And the increase in their coffers certainly was an added bonus.

You marched to the palace gates and halted when one of the guards raised his hand. You lifted your chin, peering past the rim of your hood. “I am here to see the lord of this place, the ruler of al-Rahman.”

The guard stepped forward, grip tightening around the hilt of his spear. “And you are?”

You weren’t sure how to reply to such a question. You were no one special, not a landowner or a merchant. You weren’t even a peasant. You were a ghost, a shadow that flitted about the streets and enacted justice when necessary. “I am the voice of the people. I speak for al-Rahman.”

The other guard snorted. “Off with you. We’ve no time for your kind.”

They underestimated you. They thought you a half-crazed beggar than the vigilante that you were. So when you struck forward, your hand reaching out past his languid spear, he didn’t even have the time to think about the blade sinking into his throat. Even the other guard was surprised. His brain couldn’t even consider defending him as you stole the spear from his partner and thrusted it into his gut.

Your eyes watched them both slump to the ground. “I suppose I’ll let myself in.” You stepped past them and pushed open the metal gates. The courtyard was a flourishing garden, filled with both flowers and birds of the brightest colors. It was also filled with a few meager guards. The first didn’t process your presence until it was too late, blade to skin sliding together all too easily.

The other guards were immediately put on alert. You cut them down, each one that rushed forward with spear or sword. You debilitated most of them, uneager to take the lives of men who were only following the corrupt orders of their leaders. But you were also highly aware that any guard that lived would later join in the hunt to stop you. You would be a criminal in their eyes, a crazed vigilante and nothing more.

Altaïr’s words had left you uncertain. He had been right when he stated that you were once better than this. Saif had taught you better. Even the Order had its rules about taking innocent lives although their definition was narrow. You gave them a choice, had you not? You told Nassar to choose between his wealth or his life. He had made his choice.

You worked your way through the palace halls, through lavender painted walls and glistening marble floors. You passed the extravagant fountain carved in the center of the room and ascended the stairs towards the upper floors. The guards thought it better to attack you in the narrow space but you used this to your advantage as well.

Archers that let loose their arrows and fired unintentionally into their own comrades as you used them like a shield. You knocked down each guard, wasted energy to keep some alive, and grabbed their weapons. You speared it into largest and better armored knights, a never ending arsenal of supplies. Eventually they saw clearly their defeat, dropping to their knees and raising their palms in surrender.

You tossed aside the swords in hand and marched towards the double doors they were guarding. Your vision rippled outwards, peering past the doors where Nassar kneeled hopelessly. His head was bowed and words muttered past his lips in a string of prayers and pleas. Before him stood a guard, heavily armored and determined, loyal to the end.

You pushed open the doors and the guard captain drew his blade. His eyes swept over the kneeling men behind you, the blood that pooled beneath them. He was shocked not that they had give up but that you had defeated so many.

“Set aside your blade, captain.” You sashayed forward but the loyal man tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. Your walk forward was slow but unrelenting. “I’ve no quarrel with the guards. Only him.”

His eyes peered down the at the cowering man, perhaps questioning whether he was truly willing to die for the rich aristocrat. But he was determined. He focused his attention back onto the Assassin standing before him and furrowed his brows. “You are under arrest for assaulting and killing members of the guard. You are--”

Your feet slid across the sleek marble floor as you lunged forward, your short blade pulled from your belt moments before he had time to block the attack. A guard captain had his training but he didn’t have the training of an Assassin. He was a warrior, following the rules of a warrior. You were an Assassin, taught to take every fleeting moment in battle with advantageous need.

You twisted your form until his feet were knocked out from under him and his sword was thrown across the room. The weight of his armor protected him from the fall but it also made him heavier. He was slow and disoriented. It gave you just enough time to press your dagger to his throat. You stared at him until he gave a nod of reluctant acceptance.

You lifted your eyes, your gaze meeting with the fear that clung to Nassar. He cowered away. He knew then that he had made the wrong choice. Your words had been clear and he did not heed them. You stood up and walked away from the relenting guard. “Your own greed has damned you.”

“I was wrong!” He lifted trembling open palms towards you. “I should have listened. I should have given away all that I had. Please. Spare me.”

“I did not come here for you to tell me that I was right.” You sauntered forward, watching as he crumbled at the mere idea of your victory. “I knew that already. I came here to keep a promise.”

“I have a family. I have children.”

“Yes. You had many children in your care.” You tucked your hands behind your back, head tilting away as your gaze lifted to the high vaulted ceiling above. You paced around him, the hawk soaring above as it planned for the dive. “The children in noble houses with food in their bellies. And children who worked the fields to feed these nobles. You had children who died in your streets from hunger and famine. Children that were ripped from the arms of their mothers and died on the journey to a foreign land.”

“Hold a moment. Just a moment.”

You steps slowed, your words darkening, “All of these children were yours to protect. Now they are mine.”

He shook his head, hands reaching out as if they would somehow pull mercy out of you. “No, please, you don’t understand.”

“I understand that you live in a palace while your people struggle to survive.” You spun on your heel and faced him. You poured all of your hatred into the stare as you kneeled down before him. “I offered you redemption. Two days, Nassar. All you had to do was give them your wealth. To make equal their chances in this world.”

“I shall. All of it. Spare me and they shall have all of it.”

You stood up and towered over the cowering man. “No.”

His desperate begging turned into rage and he lunged forward. He thought to leap up and knock you down, to gain some form of advantage but you saw his attack coming even before he did. You lifted your boot and slammed it into his chest, your teeth gritting as you fought to control your own anger. Nassar was kicked back against the floor, his spine hitting marble.

You began your paced march around him. “I gave you an opportunity! You cost not only the lives of your guards but your own life. Even your family’s life. And for what? Gold?”

“Not my family, I beg you..” He groaned as he tried to sit up, a gasp startling out of his throat. His eyes widened at the sight before him, reaching out towards it. “Tahir!”

Your stroll around Nassar and stopped once the noble was placed strategically between you and the Templar. He looked calm if not surprised at the sight he saw. His lips thinned as he stated plainly, “I warned you Nassar.”

His knees shuffled forward. “Tahir, she has gone mad.”

“Good of you to join us, Templar.” You reached down and curled your hand beneath Nassar’s chin. You lifted it high enough that his throat was exposed. “Now you can both suffer justice for selling people in slavery.”

“Justice?” Tahir’s brows jolted but you were an expert. He wasn’t clever enough to hide his true expression. “It wasn’t I that sold these people. Nassar did that on his own. I tried to warn him against it.” His words turned acidic, bitter at the noble than anything else, “But I am an advisor, alone. My place is to serve the ruler of al-Rahman. Isn’t that right, Nassar?”

Nassar’s head jerked with shock at the sound of betrayal. “Tahir?”

You examined the two of them, seeking out what answers their reactions would betray. They had butted heads at one point. There was some truth behind Tahir’s words but only some. You pressed your palm against the pounding pulse in his throat. “He alone acted against the people of al-Rahman? He alone shall die for this crime?”

“That is also not my place to decide.” Tahir was being honest about that at least as he bowed to you with open palms. “You are in charge here now. Al-Rahman is your city not mine.”

Your hidden blade darted outwards, sinking into Nassar’s neck before jolting back out just as quickly. You let the body of the noble fall away to the floor. Your eyes remained on Tahir as you read his reaction, the way his body tensed but eased as he tried to hide his surprise.

“I am here to help you in what way that I can.” His hands slipped behind his back as he strolled off towards a wall of windows. “The slaves that you took from France is seen as an act of war in their eyes. But, with a few written missives, I can stop it. Al-Rahman would be safe again.”

“You want to help this city?” You stepped around the cooling corpse and focused on your new prey. “How can a few letters stop a war?”

Tahir spun away from the window, delighted to be of use. “There is a law in France, one I warned Nassar about but was ignored. The law states that no Christian can be made a slave and the people sent to France were… Shall we say, illegal? Because that is what my note shall say.”

“And they will overlook the murders?” Your brow rose. “They will ignore the deaths of their guards and a few rich landowners?”

“To save themselves from public humiliation? Yes, I believe so.” He cautiously walked forward, keeping his distance just in case. His hand swept out to draw your attention to the dead noble on the floor. “Someone must take Nassar’s place. And you are the leader that al-Rahman requires. No one else dared to speak out against Nassar. The law is law and selling people...” He shook his head almost mockingly.

You kept the Templar in your peripheral. You watched as he moved towards the door, as he waited for your response. “Why do you wish to help me, Templar?”

“Templar.” He scoffed at the title, lips twitching into a smile. “What do you know of me save that title? I came to al-Rahman to help establish economic ties between this city and the rest of the world. That is still my sole goal.”

“You think I’d be so foolish to fall for your manipulation?”

“I’m asking you to lead this city not to hand it over to me. I fight for peace same as the Assassins. Peace requires order, someone to rule. Who better to rule the people than the woman who sailed across the sea to bring them home?”

You lifted your chin, gaze peering over at the kneeling guards who were still waiting for something to happen. “Send your letters then, Tahir. We shall see where your loyalty is.”

The Templar gave a low bow before stepping out the room, walking through the river of blood without even flinching. He was up to something. You knew as much. But leading the city would establish some form of peace and it would give you the opportunity to correct the corruption.

“Guard Captain.” You eyed the man, watched him tremble at the sound of his title.

He rose to his feet and stalked forward. He stopped some distance away from you, weary about what might occur. He didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare look you in the eye for too long.

“You will send word to the people outside of the city. There is a group of them. Tell them that the city is ours now.” You looked over the pristine floors and the smooth walls of the structure around you. “Tell them that the palace is their home now.”

He lowered his chin, expression hardening to hide his expression. “Ma’am?”

Your brow jolted upwards. “Is there something wrong with my decision?”

He straightened his spine and raised his head. “Not at all. I was only surprised, ma’am.”

“Good.” You stepped forward, unfaltering in your orders. “Send your most trusted ally. I want all of the city to know that the palace now belongs to all. The wealth here is now for everyone who was sold against their will.”

He lowered his aging eyes, his body stiffening out of experience. “Who shall I say is sending this message?”

You hesitated, a sickness suddenly weakening you. You were supposed to be their voice, to protect them not to rule over them. But this seemed like the best option. “The Hawk of al-Rahman.”

He gave a slow, uncertain bow of his head. “Of course.”

“And guard captain.” You stated it, drawing his attention as he was leaving, “Warn the nobles. They will allow anyone to work in any sector, no matter their social standing. The schools shall be open to all as well. Things will change.”

He searched you for answers, hidden answers but he saw none. His lips parted when he realized suddenly what you were trying to do. “Of course. I shall send word immediately.”

~:~

You stood at the peak of the steps and watched them pass through the palace gates, their eyes lit with new hope after having been lost for so long. They had a home now. They had somewhere safe to rest their head. They had someone to look over them and ensure that they were cared for.

The woman from days prior walked by, a nod of her head and a hand brushing across your arm. She had so many praises that she wanted to share but the guard captain returned to your side, needing your attention once more. “The area is being cleaned as we speak. Your people are settling in where we’ve placed them.”

You motioned with a nudge of your chin for him to follow. You walked through the palace with him, softly and gently asking, “The guards that were wounded. They will recover?”

“That is correct…” His words were pressed hard, obviously restrained against speaking what was really on his mind. “The few that died have been removed from the premises.”

Your steps grew slower the further you entered into the palace. “I did not want to it come to that. Nassar made entering the palace difficult.”

The captain settled his palm onto the hilt of his blade, straightening his spine because he realized that you were aware of his bitterness. “Of course.”

You stopped abruptly and pressed your hand into his arm. “Tell me the honest truth, captain. I want to hear it. I need to.”

“Most are not pleased. They had friends die at your hand. And you suggest such… bizarre ideals that most are weary of you.”

“I see.” You began the slow stroll forward, peering at the aging man beside you. “What can I do to fix the matter? How can I help your people?”

He leered over at you, determining for himself what you suggested. “The guards that died might have had family who required the gold. Children without a parent. Loved ones who need to be consoled.”

You gave a slow nod of your head, remembering plainly the words that Altaïr had last spoke to you. He had been right. You should have found another way. Desperation, perhaps plain impatience, made you forget that the guards were still people. Or perhaps it was your rage towards Nassar.

You settled your eyes on him and stated it as honestly as you could, “Whatever you need, it is yours. The guards are meant to protect the people. They should serve their community not the city leaders.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand?”

“You don’t serve me. You don’t serve the nobles.” You stepped closer and placed a firm hand onto his shoulder. “You serve the people of this city. Your only job is to make sure they are safe… We need to find a way to make sure that happens.”

He gave a quick and abrupt nod, still somewhat unsettled by your suggestion. “I will handle the guards. In time they will… understand what you’re trying to do here, my lady.”

“I’m not here to rule you, captain. That’s not why I came.” You motioned for him to follow you again, moving deeper into the palace towards the council room. “I came to fix things. You must have seen the injustices for yourself.”

“I wasn’t paid to see things, my lady.” He kept his eyes ahead but his tone seemed softer. He seemed to hesitate then, weary about speaking up even more, “I’m only here to make sure the guards man their posts and to keep my employer alive.”

“Not anymore.” You lifted your hand and pushed open the door to the overly extravagant room. Your gaze swept over the people gathered there, richly dressed and impatient men who weren’t used to waiting on others. “This is everyone?”

The captain stepped ahead of you out of habit, always a bodyguard. “Yes, my lady.”

One of the men stepped forward, nose scrunched in disgust and rage. “What is the meaning of this, Armon?”

The guard captain ignored him. He waved his hand towards the broad shouldered man, armor more for decoration than practicality. “This is the constable in charge of military affairs including the guards here in the city.”

“Constable.” You stepped into the room, gaze never faltering from his. “Were you aware of your people being sold?”

“My people?” His lips hardened, screwing downwards as he spat, “You kill Nassar and turn the city’s palace into a refugee camp and you want to know if I helped sell a bunch of beggars?”

You took down a deep breath air, ready to argue your case but then you gave a shake of your head. You couldn’t keep relying on your anger. You were better than that. “Constable you are relieved of your title and exiled from the city. If you cause me further problems, I will have you imprisoned.”

“You can not do this.” His hands tightened into fists, leather creaking from the action. “I will return with an army. I will take this city from you under the banner of Cilicia.”

Another cleared their throat, stepping forward. “That will likely not happen.” He gave a nod of his head to you, a slight show of respect. “I am the seneschal here and I served as an assistant to Nassar. It is in my understanding that King Levon I has… more troubling matters to deal with than some city that might cause more trouble than good if he were to save it. Cilicia is a kingdom that has other priorities.”

You raised a challenging brow at the man. “Bring your army. Al-Rahman shall be ready for it.”

The constable marched out of the room, a growl rumbling from his throat.

“It was this reason that Nassar made efforts to… bolster relations with France.” He tucked his hands neatly behind his back, looking more exhausted than arrogant. “We will need the electing of a new constable. But first, I shall introduce the members of your council.”

“No.” You looked toward the guard captain until his gaze met yours. “I promote you to constable. You shall introduce these… council members instead.”

His gaze roamed from yours to theirs. “Of course, my lady. Senschal Jordan, as you’ve met, has served the city since he was a youth. He was raised for this position, handling matters with paperwork and domestic affairs.”

“Raised for my position is the kinder version of ‘born not of noble birth’.”

Armon dipped his chin, calming himself against the other man’s retort. “Chamberlain Cyrus handles the city’s finances. Chancellor Yazdan deals with matters of justice. Viscount Lyron handles matters with the merchants here in the city, dealing with taxes and the guilds.”

“These people speak for the city?”

“That is correct.”

“Very well then…” You folded your arms neatly across your chest. “Who helped Nassar sell people?”

Chamberlain Cyrus hesitated but eventually spoke up. “I handle only the coin… my lady. I don’t decide where it goes.”

“Nassar decided such.” The chancellor hissed, “He was in charge, not us. To take your anger out on us is--”

“Keep your comments, chancellor.” Seneschal Jordan slammed his hands down onto the surface of the table. “None of you disagreed with him. You all nodded your heads and smiled.”

“How dare you!” Chancellor Yazdan pointed a rigid finger at him. “You’ve no room to talk. You were with us when the decision was made.”

“I’m just a nobody, remember? Some lowly born vassal.” He tossed them a grimaced glare. “You were the ones that saw them as nothing more than trash.”

Viscount Lyron threw his hands up into the air. “That action not only cleaned up the poor district but it brought in twice as many merchants.”

Chamberlain Cyrus craned his head, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as if this debate was nothing new. “We were going to use those funds to remodel the poor district.”

The seneschal huffed and pushed away from the table between them. “Those funds went towards Nassar’s banquet just as they always do.”

Lyron spat, “That banquet--”

“Enough!” You shouted, muscles coiling with bitter impatience.

“That banquet was to convince the royal bank to lend us--”

“I said enough.” Your eyes narrowed, staring into his own until he looked away. “I did not come here to resolve your pathetic squabbles. I came here because your people need action. If you do not provide that action, I will find people who can.”

Seneschal Jordan rubbed his hands across his eyes. “What do you need of us?”

“Change. Opportunity.” You shifted your weight between your legs, feeling the tension as you dug fingers into your arms. “Each sector shall have its own council. We will need to determine how these people will be picked and ways to prevent corruption. No single person will rule al-Rahman from this moment forward. The councils will decide what laws pass.”

“A group?” Lyron gave a gravelly sound of distaste while dropping down into the closest seat. “You see how well we work together. Laws would never get passed.”

The captain, the constable, beside you muttered blatantly, “No laws are far better than the ones you’ve made so far.”

The viscount’s expression distorted but he bit back his words.

“Tomorrow. We’ll begin.” You stepped away from the group and out of the room. You had enough of their politics. There had to be a way to level the playing field.

“My lady.” Armon quickened his steps until he was at your side. “Constable or not, I’ll remain at your side until a replacement has been found.”

“Replacement?”

“Bodyguard.” His hand fell to the hilt of his sword, palm rubbing across it. “You fight well but attempts on your life might succeed. I can not allow this city to descend into chaos because another ruler was murdered.”

“Fine. Help me get food and water out to everyone.”

His gaze lingered on yours before slowly nodding. “Of course, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altair will be in the next chapter XD I swear it. Albeit, only briefly?


	22. The Caged Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter and the chapter after it... ^-^;;;

“These are the three servants, my lady.” He watched them as they were forced to kneel down before you. “They were caught poisoning your food.”

You kept your expression smooth, your thoughts from playing out for others to see. It chilled you to think that they wanted to kill you. Others had tried but you couldn’t understand it. Weren’t you trying to change things for the better? Couldn’t they see that? By giving each sector its own government you gave them more freedoms? Your plans to create apprenticeships for all classes proved your desire for equality.

“My lady, by law, these men should be sentenced to death for their crimes of treason.” Seneschal Jordan took a step closer, his paper being scribbled on mercilessly as he kept notes on the proceedings. “By your orders we can begin the executions.”

“Murderer,” one of them spat, the bravest of the three, rising up on his knees.

“I am a murderer.” You leaned forward in your seat, hands clasped as you stared into the glistening marble floors, pristine and untouched by the desert sands just outside the city walls. “But so are the nobles that you serve.”

He managed to keep his head high, loyal even to the end.

“I can not kill them for simply doing what they think is right.” You stood up and strolled across the room towards them, Constable Armon’s hand twitching towards his sword just in case you needed him. But he knew well enough what you were capable of.

The seneschal muttered it, nervously almost, “You’re allowing them to live?”

“Find them work outside of the palace.” You looked at them, memorized each of their faces so that if you ever saw them again you would recognize them. Their lives mattered. They had family somewhere, someone who cared for them. You couldn’t let yourself forget that. “Make sure their families are comfortable as well.”

Armon followed you out of the room, each of his steps as heavy as the next which attested to his frustration. “You can’t keep letting people live. Those men will find another way to kill you and one day they will succeed.”

“Or perhaps they will see reason.” You tossed him a weak smile, the best you could give the older soldier after the long, weary days. “Killing everyone isn’t exactly an answer either, Constable.”

Armon gave a slight nod of his head. “My lady--”

“This is an outrage!” His shout echoed through the halls, drawing attention from everyone but yourself. It had to be a noble, his accent and air of authority told you as much. “This will not stand!”

You stopped short and peered over at Armon, the diligent bodyguard who hadn’t left your side since the whole ordeal began. He gave you a nod of acknowledgement that he’d do whatever you needed of him. You turned calmly around to face the challenging man as he stormed towards you, a pair of nobles at his side.

“These… ‘vagrants’ litter the halls of the royal estate!” He came to an abrupt halt as the constable stepped forward in warning. “They can not remain here! This is an insult to everyone--”

“Kill him.” You groaned, too tired to deal with a revolt, too bitter to waste your time on men who opposed change.

Armon stepped forward fully intent on following the orders. Even the noble gasped and stumbled away from you, the men at his side stiffening to hear such words.

“Hold a moment.” You raised your hand, eyes rolling as you tried to fight back against the urge to kill every enemy. You weren’t a soldier. You weren't fighting an army. You had to be merciful. Killing wasn’t the answer. There were other ways, you reminded yourself. “I’ve changed my mind.”

The noble wasn’t quite so forward as earlier but his stubbornness didn’t change. “This is a palace! It has housed the royal family for generations!”

“Constable?” Your eyes fluttered mockingly as you glanced over the rich silks of the older gentleman. “Who is this man shouting at me?”

“He is al-Rahman’s largest investor.” His attention moved from you to the annoyed aristocrat. “He also owns the textile industry in the rich district, my lady.”

“My lady?” he spat it with bitter distaste. His eyes roved over your form and his lips pulled taut. You weren’t dressed in silks like him and his men. You wore the robes of the Assassins, your belts holstering innumerable weapons. So of course he was appalled. “You must be joking? This is--”

The guard captain swayed his weight between his feet, looking just as imposing as he was. “Stay your tongue. She may have mercy. I do not.”

“Textile industry, you say?” You lifted your arm and lounged it over the hilt of your blade, drawing the nobles’ attentions to it. “Please inform him that he has two days to clothe my people or his company shall be acquired by the city.”

“What?” He tried to step forward but the captain quickly pressed a firm hand against his chest. “You have no authority here! Without my gold this city would be dust!”

You turned sharply on your heel, your robes spinning around you. “Interesting notion. Perhaps we should seize his estate as well? It’d house a great deal of people.”

“The guilds will not stand for this!”

“I’ve already spoken to the guilds. They’re delighted. My plans are in their favor unlike yours.” Your lips quirked as you sashayed down the hall. “Escort this man out, Constable.”

You kept your pace, calm and deliberate, feeling every eye that either watched you in awe or hatred. You climbed the steps to the upper floors, body sighing when you reached the hall outside of your quarters. The moment the door shut behind you, you pressed your spine against it, head bowing under relief. You couldn’t remember the last time your muscles weren’t twisted tight by constant tension. And everyone’s expectations weren’t helping either.

“The Hawk of al-Rahman?” Altaïr stepped into view, his hood pulled forward and his body languid as he strolled across the expansion of the room. “This is what you’ve become?”

You gently pushed away from the door. You tried to pull your mask back into place, the one you wore in front of nobles and peasants alike, but you couldn’t. Not to Altaïr. You couldn’t hide yourself from him. You didn’t want to. You tried to tease him but the words came out unpracticed and nervous, “Did the Order send you to kill me?”

He flicked his gaze at you, shocked that you’d even ask the question. “I am not here to kill you. I come for Tahir.” He watched you move across the room towards the desk, gaze nearly burning hot against your skin. “The Templar is here in the palace. He stays here and you do nothing.”

“I’ve been waiting for a reason…” Your attention averted to anything in the room besides him. Paperwork that cluttered the area before you seemed fitting enough. “He hasn’t done anything that I could use against him. And last time we spoke, I decided to… resist taking unnecessary life.”

Altaïr spoke brashly, quick and abrupt as always, “He is a Templar. That should have been enough.”

You tossed aside the papers and faced him. “I’m still an Assassin.”

“You wear the robes of such but your actions speak otherwise.”

“I’m still the same person. The person who nursed a man back to help even though it might have brought death to herself and her father. The person who fought back Templars in the village of Masyaf while the others retreated behind castle walls.” You gave a long sigh, too tired to argue with him. But mostly, you missed him. You’d give anything to have him to talk to, to rely on for advice and friendship.

Altair didn’t seem convinced, stalking his way around the desk, around you.

“Altaïr, please.” You gave a toss of your head, stomach twisting into a knot. Your hand nearly moved there, to rest on the slight bulge beneath the layers of leather. “I haven’t seen you in a week. Our last meeting was…” You drew in your bottom lip and scraped your teeth across it, leaning back into the hard edge of the desk. “These people need me.”

He stepped forward, the metal of his blades clattering and boots clomping against the marble floors. “This city is not the only city filled with people in need. There are other cities that need us. It is not for us to pick and choose which.”

You shot him a fierce glower. “So it’s Al Mualim’s?”

Altair dipped his chin, the hood deepening the shadow across his features.

“I’m sorry… I just…” You pushed away from the edge of the desk and pressed palms against the heat of his chest.

“I took on Tahir’s name to come here. To see you.” His hands lifted cautiously, wanting to rest them against your skin but not allowing himself. “I came to ask you to return to Masyaf with me. You have had your justice. Is that not enough?”

You words were soft mutterings, “No… It isn’t.” You pressed your forehead against his chest, taking down his scent until it filled your lungs. The earthiness of the desert still clung to his clothes, sharp and dry like pepper. “I want to leave. I will leave. But first I need to ensure that the city is running smoothly without me.”

“And when some other injustice occurs?” Altaïr’s hands gripped hold of your arms, not pushing you away nor pulling you closer. “What then? Shall you rule them until they obey?”

“Altaïr.” You raised your head, fingers curling against the cloth of his tunic. “That’s unfair.”

His lips were so thin and unmoving, his eyes staring into your own as you peered up at him past his hood and shadows.

You tugged against the belt across his chest when he turned to leave, the plea jolting from the tip of your tongue, “Please, wait. A moment longer, please. We haven’t seen each other--”

Altaïr’s hands encased your neck, thumb pushed beneath your jaw so that his lips could meet with yours. They were soft, dry from the desert heat but smooth against your own. His tongue swept forward and you willingly submitted, allowing him a brief taste before pulling away. He spun sharply on his heel and marched towards the open balcony. He halted, peering over his shoulder past the rim of his hood. “If you return to Masyaf I will be waiting. If you do not then I will know your true feelings.”

You choked back the sob that threatened. “I will come. I promise.” You watched him as he climbed over the edge of the banister and up onto the rooftops above. He was gone so quickly that the meeting felt more like a passing dream, a fading memory from years before.

You sauntered over to the smooth stone columns, the arches painted delicately in soft lavenders. In the distance, past the cluttered homes and spiraled towers, were the soft desert mounds and the setting sun. The sky itself was smearing from cyan to pale pinks, casting the light hues over the stone washed city below, a city that felt oh so distant.

You hung your head, your arms wrapping around you as your body leaned forward. The months had been draining, one impossible task after the next. Your teeth clenched, grinding against each other and your fingers digging into your arms. What were you even doing anymore? Were you even stepping in the right direction?

“My lady!” The door was shoved open, Armon rushing forward with drawn sword and darting eyes. He gave a heavy sigh of relief. “You are safe.”

Your eyes fluttered away the beginnings of tears. You couldn’t fall apart. Not yet. You weren’t quite finished. You would fall apart once you were safely back in Masyaf with Altaïr in your arms.

Armon patrolled around the room checking every corner and shadow. “Tahir was murdered. The guards are searching for his killer as we speak. They might come after you next, just as the others tried.”

You put your back to al-Rahman and after a long, deep breath you marched towards the door. “Constable, call together the sector councils. We have one final project that needs to be done before…” You peered over at him, his brows pinching together and it made him look ten years older. “Well, before I leave.”

“Leave?” He shoved his sword back into its sheath. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not a ruler.” You reminded him with determination, “No one person shall rule al-Rahman.”

“Then don’t. My lady.” He took a hard step towards you that was bristled with rage and just as much determination. “You have uprooted this entire city in the name of… peace and freedom… and you’re just going to leave us?”

“That was the point of the councils.”

“I don’t trust those people,” he muttered. “The moment you leave they might…”

“I’m not a ruler.” You tucked your hands behind your back and started down the hallway. “Setting up public libraries and schools will be an entirely different ordeal. We need to begin now or they’ll never let it happen.”

~:~

You saw it there in the distance, the grand structure of Masyaf as it stood out above the desert, the mountain holding up its massive walls like a king on his throne. You hadn't realized how much you truly missed the place until seeing it. Mostly, you had missed Altaïr. You had missed the small family that had begun to gather around you, the supportive columns you had leaned on before leaving off on your own.

You spurred the steed, racing across the last remainder of desert until the large village was before you. You pulled back on the reins and the horse reared up at the sudden command, your nervous and excited energy translating across the beast. You steadied the creature as best you could before clumsily leaping off and rushing through the wooden gates. You pushed your way to the other side of the crowded marketplace, climbing the familiar winding path to the large pale stone walls of the castle.

You met the eyes of many, lifeless and empty gazes, ones that averted elsewhere. They busied themselves with their chores, working and training, pretending you weren’t there. But there was only one face you searched for, one person alone you were desperate to see. You hadn't parted on the best of terms. There were too many things you needed to say and far too many things you wanted to do. He needed to know that. He needed to know how much you loved him.

But at the castle entrance of Masyaf you were greeted by the blade of a spear, its cold metal pressed against your throat. He was an Assassin, one of the guards who patrolled the village. "Al Mualim must speak with you."

You peered down at the weapon. You could have fought back. You would have won that battle. But you decided against it, choosing to take the path of peace instead. You didn't exactly leave on good terms with the Order either but you certainly had no quarrel with them. You did not wish to fight with Al Mualim. You wanted only to return to Altaïr's side.

"Take me to him then..." You stepped back and waited for the guard to step aside or to lead. He chose to step aside, chose to not put his back to you. It was the wisest of choices. You took the lead and slowly walked the last few steps to enter into the cooler shade of the immense tower, passing the cluttered bookshelves to grudgingly climb the steps up to the Mentor's roost.

"Al Mualim," you greeted weakly, uncertainly.

He turned away from the window, setting his attention upon you. He looked older than you remembered him, sickly almost as if something had drained him of his energy. "Welcome home, child."

You raised a brow at the man. "A strange welcome, is it not? To put a blade at the throat of a returning ally?"

"An ally?" He rounded the large desk, fingers sliding across its surface before he posted himself at its center. "You murdered countless lives whilst across the sea in a foreign land. You had to clean a river of blood from al-Rahman’s streets. You exposed the Order to the scrutiny of outsiders. And you dare call yourself an ally?”

“That’s an over exaggeration.” You muttered it, not because you were afraid or guilty, but because you hoped to contain the last remnants of your anger, "Those men deserved their fates."

"Their lives were not yours to take!" Al Mualim was suddenly bristled with rage, face brightening with shades of red. "Your actions were of your own selfish desire! I have no other choice but to condemn you!"

"Condemn me?" You stepped forward but the guard from earlier lifted his spear, pressing it against your chest. Your hand instinctively fell against your stomach, clinging there for a peaceful resolution. "And what sort of punishment has the tyrant for his quarry?"

"If only your emotions remained in check..." His mind wandered away from him, thoughts and memories clouded his judgement for a time. He lifted an item off of his desk, a shimmering golden orb. "Humans are a chaotic species. But with this..."

Your skin prickled as the air electrified with rippling static. Something undulated off of it, that odd glowing sphere, and it left your body trembling. Your heart raced. You hadn't felt such fear in a long time. It was the fear of the unknown and the fear of helplessness. And the moment that the orb brightened to the intensity of the sun, did you truly understand the meaning of your fear.

"With this you will no longer disobey me or my orders." Al Mualim's voice rang out across the tower, echoing in every corner and striking painfully into your eardrum. But whatever power crackled the air rolled across your skin and away from you, it clawed against your skull in a failed attempt to reach into your mind.

Your knees wavered beneath you, the throbbing immersion of a fierce headache. The light dimmed, the orb still perched in Al Mualim's hand. You bowed over, hands clutching your knees for balance as you regained your strength.

"Nothing..." His lips twisted suddenly into a grimaced frown. "Take her to the dungeons. I will decide what to do with her then."

You weakly straightened your spine, eyes darting between the old man and his guard. "What?" You lunged forward but the guard had anticipated it. You would have fought him off and made your escape had Saif's scolding voice not struck your ears.

"Calm, my daughter. Go easily and I will speak with Al Mualim in your favor." His eyes were firmly upon yours, something fearful in them, something desperate. “Go on, child.”

You stared at him for the longest time. You hoped he would reveal answers but Saif was guarding his expression too closely. You closed your eyes and willingly went with the guard. You couldn’t risk trying to escape and surely Saif and Altair could speak for your release.

It was true that you had killed people, murdered them, but how were their deaths any different than all of the other lives the Order had taken? Because Al Mualim commanded it? Because he somehow knew better than anyone else?

You stepped into the darkness of the dungeon. The guards stripped you of your weapons and belts, piling them onto a table like a mass grave. They left you with only your trousers and shirt, your growing bulge all the more obvious. The guards tried not to stare but they had seen. Their commands were gentler, leading you further into the confining four walls of the prison cell where the heavy metal door shut away the last rays of candlelight. Not even the sun could reach this far into the earth nor chase away the harsh cold that rolled across your body and through the thin layers of your remaining clothes.

You walked to the farthest wall and slid down the moldy surface until you could sit against it. There was nothing you could do now but wait. Escape was possible although a very slim possible. There were a few, perhaps, who would hesitate to kill you. But that orb, the way it had tried to reach into your thoughts... Something was wrong in Masyaf.

You tried to think back on your arrival and the way the people had looked at you. You thought perhaps it was because you'd taken lives. What if there was something else? What if their lifeless eyes and averted gazes were caused by Al Mualim and whatever the strange object could do?

You clenched your eyes shut and cleared away your thoughts. You focused on your breathing, refocused every time your mind wandered, and allowed the stress to melt away. Saif had forced you years ago to meditate and to harness Eagle Vision with greater precision. He didn't have it himself but he had you experiment with different techniques until you were the expert.

The door's small window opened at the bottom, a wooden plate of food and a cup of water were shoved across the floor but you remained where you were. You hadn't even bothered opening your eyes, your trained abilities showing you what you needed to see. You continued clearing your thoughts and focused on Eagle Vision's sway over your mind. Four more meals were placed and replaced into the cell before the massive and heavy door opened wide, Saif's boots scuffing across the stone.

He didn't utter a word until the door closed. He growled, words deep in his throat, "You murdered those people!" He stepped forward, body rigid and leaning forward in his rage. "I taught you better than this. I taught you mercy and compassion. Look at me!"

You took down a slow breath but clung to Eagle Vision when you opened your eyes. You could see his heartbeat, the quickening flow of blood through each of his veins as his anger swelled inside of him.

He held up the candle in his hand and examined your face, searching for any sign of remorse but you were at peace. "Have you nothing to say for yourself? Have you no excuse?"

You raised your chin a bit higher. "They took the lives of others for coin. I took their lives for their crime. I offered them mercy. I gave them a choice, father. They refused it."

He pressed his hand against his eyes then rubbed his palm upwards to push against his graying hair. "Al Mualim has decided to keep you here. He has sentenced you to death for betraying him. It will be weeks before Altaïr returns..."

"I need to speak with Altaïr." Your eyes locked with his, your hands falling to the small bump at your stomach. You whispered the words, "I'm pregnant..."

Saif froze, eyes rolling downwards to peer at your abdomen. He was silent for the longest moment before daring to nod. "I shall inform Al Mualim. He'll hold off your execution which may give us enough time for Altaïr to arrive and for you to escape."

Before Saif could leave you muttered his name, a sickness suddenly twisting inside of you. "There's something wrong in Masyaf, I can feel it. Al Mualim... that thing he has... it isn't natural. Something terrible is going to happen."

Saif put his back to you, staring into the grains of the door, his tone hollow. "I shall visit again when I can. It may take me days to return. Be sure to eat something. I do not want to return to find you dead." He knocked twice against the door and it opened, allowing him to pass through before slamming shut once more. The grate slid open to the scrutiny of the guardsman outside, a quick check to determine if you were still there before it screeched closed.

You rolled your eyes shut and buried your nails against the softness of your palm. Whatever Al Mualim was planning... it wouldn't end well. There was power inside of that golden sphere and power often corrupted whoever wielded it. From what you had seen of Al Mualim, all of the time you'd been in his presence, he enjoyed having power over others. It was a secret pleasure that was slowly consuming him.


	23. Broken Wings

There were countless meals, days turning into weeks, but there was no sign of Saif. Your clothes had grown damp, smeared and dirtied by the moisture and the mold. You paid them no attention, only stopping your meditation to eat a few more morsels. Your Eagle Vision reached an accuracy it had never been before, casting before your mind's eye a dream of Al Mualim and the strange treasure he coveted. He used it over his flock to take away their freedom, morphing them into mindless servants.

It wasn't a dream. You knew this now. There was a crowd of people gathered at the steps of Al Mualim's tower, mindless thralls gathered to worship and protect him. Whatever Al Mualim was doing to the people... he would surely try to do to Altaïr. You had to stop him or at the very least warn Altaïr.

The door's window screeched open, another meal shoved across the floor, and the dream dissipated. You stared at the small plate of food then down to your stomach. You tried to eat more than usual in hopes to sustain not only yourself but the growing child inside of you. Four months, you guessed, barely aware of what day it was.

You swallowed the next bite, drawing your knees to your chest. You weren’t certain how much more solitude you could take. The silence and the overwhelming sway of Eagle Vision was leaving you a quivering mess. You would have to reach Altaïr somehow and soon. Altaïr, you missed him greatly. With each bite, warm, large tears rolled down your cheek and clung to your jaw. For all you knew, he had already come and gone from Masyaf. Perhaps he thought you left him for good, that he would never see you again and that you loved a city full of strangers more than him.

You struggled to get up onto your wavering legs and step before the door. You pounded your fist against the wood then listened for any amount of shuffling. "Hello!” You pounded again, shouting painfully, “Please, I just need a little more water!" You pounded harder but not a single person stopped before the door. "Please! It’s dark in here. I just… I just need some light!"

The metal grate creaked open, a shaft of sharp light spilling across your dirt stained skin and clothes. "Shut up in there." He left it open, giving you one final glare, before walking off. That small window allowed you to view out into the long hallway, countless wooden doors filled with countless prisoners.

When your legs began to bow beneath your weight, you shuffled back to the wall and leaned against it. You sat down weakly and ate the last few bites from the small plate of food. You drank down every drop of water and waited. There was nothing more you could do. You would later hope to snag someone's attention, long enough to either steal their keys or convince them to help. You focused on Eagle Vision but it was leaving you more exhausted each time.

Another week passed by. Saif never made an appearance. You were beginning to wonder if he still lived or if Al Mualim controlled him. You scanned all of Masyaf, seeking out any one person that still thought on their own. The village seemed desolate, empty of its usual bustle.

You found the energy of a few people in the mountains. Listening to their faint voices, you were fairly certain one of them was Malik. Your heart raced desperately, swelling inside of your chest. Your brows pinched as you searched for Altaïr's voice, searched for his presence.

You took down a sharp breath, barely able to contain your relief. Altaïr. He was there among the others. They were going to distract the villagers long enough for Altaïr to enter into the castle. But they couldn't possibly know or understand what Al Mualim was capable of. You rolled your weight onto your feet and staggered to the door. You stood there, helpless and incapable, lacking any form of plan.

"Hello!" You curled your fingers around the window slot, using it to hold your weight. “Help! I need some help in here!” You peered down at your bulging stomach, formulating what plan you could. You took down a sharp gasp, arm wrapped loosely around your belly. “I think… I’m going into labor!” You faked a scream and listened as it echoed through the vast corridors of the dungeon.

But there was not even a single hurried shuffle, only the slow rhythmic movements of the mindless thralls that patrolled the area. You dropped down onto your knees, the sharp stone of the dungeon floor cutting through your threadbare attire. You rubbed your palms across the coarse stone, failing to keep your composure.

There was no point. Everyone in Masyaf was under Al Mualim's control. Those who were immune to the strange object, resistent to its magic, were either dead or in the dungeons with you. You clenched your teeth, gritting them as you realized why Saif hadn't made an appearance like he said he would. He had to be in one of the other prison cells. He couldn't be dead. Saif was too clever to be dead. He would have slyly tricked Al Mualim into letting him live.

Unless, he was with the group outside Masyaf...

You focused on the mountains, desperate to sense any life that resembled Saif. Even a single word uttered by him would soothe your fears. Eagle Vision was splintering across your mind, your brows pinching as you tried to see the details. There was something happening above, Altaïr shouting, and his sudden presence distracted you. He was fighting with Al Mualim. Whatever battle was taking place was happening too quickly for you to process. And something else was interfering. That thing, the object in Al Mualim's hands, made it difficult to focus on the area.

You released Eagle Vision with a groan, head falling into your hand as a headache roved across your skull. Your fingers slipped through your hair, tugging at their base for some form of relief. You couldn’t keep using the ability if you wanted to stay sane long enough to see Altaïr again.

Boots were rapidly scuffing across stone and your head snapped upwards. You only just managed to get to your feet when you saw Abbas rounding the corner, hurriedly heading through the tunnels. He hadn’t seen you yet, his brows were pinched and he was annoyed about something. Perhaps, even confused, about the events that were transpiring.

"Abbas!" You tried to stay on your feet but your body couldn't take it anymore, your knees were buckling slowly.

He frantically searched and found your pained expression. "What is this? Why are you… What are you doing in the prisons?"

“Al Mualim is controlling people’s minds.” Your head swayed forward, finding it more and more difficult to think. You lowered yourself back down to the floor, muscles trembling sickly around bone. “He’s turning people into mindless thralls.”

“Al Mualim? What are you talking about?” He raced to the door and lifted the hatch, jerking it open with full force. But when his eyes had full view of your condition he froze. His expression twisted with the sudden realization.

"Abbas..." You took down a shuddering breath. "Al Mualim... He's dangerous..."

"You are pregnant..." His glare never left your stomach, as if it were too much for him to process. His body was rigid with disgust and rage. You had seen Abbas annoyed but never quite so hateful. "Altaïr's child... It is Altaïr's child?"

You tried to move your legs, to throw your weight up onto one foot. "Abbas we have to go to Altaïr. Al Mualim will kill him."

He hissed as if the idea were insulting. "You are a great fool. You are blind to what Altaïr truly is!" He paced away from you then spun around, lips twisting into a frown. "If you will not save yourself from him... then I must do it for you."

Your brows drew together. "What?" Your hand fell to your stomach, a mindless act as if you could somehow protect the child. "Abbas? What are you..." You swallowed the hot bile that bit the back of your throat. You bowed your head, a thin sheen of sweat layering across your skin. "Abbas, please, go heat Altaïr."

"On your feet." Abbas jerked your arm to pull you up off the ground but you were too sick to stand on your own. He was forced to haul most of your weight, staggering with you through the vast tunnels of the prisons. "Foolish! You have no idea what kind of monster Altair truly is."

You stumbled, your bare feet stubbing against the unleveled stone floor. Abbas' strangling hold on your arm kept you mostly from falling. "List to me, Abbas... He's not a monster... If you would just listen to me--"

His fingers dug into your flesh, bruising the skin as he spat his hatred, "He's selfish and arrogant. Even Al Mualim called him traitor! He has made you blind to the true demon that he is."

Another approached, their steps slowing at the sight of you both. "What's happened? What is she doing down here? Is she--"

Abbas calmly watched the man approach. His hand reached forward, the hidden blade striking into the youth's neck. The young man hardly had the chance to defend himself. He never thought his own brother would kill him, that a traitor stood before him.

You swallowed your whimper and protests.

"He was a thrall," he excused lowly, dragging you forward with him.

You clenched your jaw. He hadn't been a thrall. You would have sensed it. Abbas wasn't a thrall either. Whatever he planned, whatever he was going to do to you, would be of his own volition. His hatred and distrust had been known, you had argued with him before but… This? This was something unexpected entirely. You just couldn't understand what Altair might have done to him to cause such insane paranoia.

You had so few options and you would have to somehow cleverly convince Abbas you were on his side. You would have to lie and agree to his disillusion. You would tell him what he wanted to hear so long as you survived long enough to escape.

It was hard to keep track of where he was taking you. You never had a reason to walk the dungeons before so the various turns down tunnels were an unending maze. You stumbled and fell a few times, both on accident and purpose. Each time it only fueled his anger, his hands growing rougher and his breathing harsher.

His fury halted only long enough to throw open a door. It led to a dusty and overgrown path into the mountainside. It was an emergency escape route, one that many of the Assassins might have used earlier to invade. You nearly wept at the horrible irony, Abbas using a route that was meant to save lives rather than endanger them.

He dragged you down the dirt path, passing under the shadow of a few scattered trees until the intense heat of the sun was fading with dusk. He stopped in front of a house that looked fairly unused but still standing against the wind and rain. He shoved open the door and hauled you the last few steps.

You dropped to your knees, your hands barely catching your upper body's excessive weight. You rolled onto your side and then over onto your back, your spine sinking against the hard floor. It felt like you hadn’t had a moment’s rest for months. And truly you hadn't. You went from gathering your people from France to reorganizing the city of al-Rahman to this...

Abbas charged forward, throwing open tattered baskets and worn chests until he found what he was looking for. He approached with the cloth, hauling your weight until you were sitting against the wall. He tied your hands up behind you, not bothering to even look you in the eye.

You heaved down a breath. “Abbas.”

He snarled it, jolting to his feet, “He’s a traitor!”

"You're right," you muttered it. "Altaïr is... a liar." You took down a slow ragged breath, holding back any sobs that threatened. "I should have listened to you."

Abbas stepped away from you towards the front door. He didn’t look convinced by your pleas at all. "I will take care of Altaïr." He marched from the house and slammed the door behind him.

All of the fear you'd held back broke through in a raspy sob. Your eyes clenched shut, your face crumpling beneath the anxiety and sorrow that swelled behind your next breath.

If Altaïr managed to survive Al Mualim he would have to survive Abbas as well. Would he even see the attack coming? Would he be strong enough to endure it? Malik would be at his side and the others who had overcome Al Mualim’s control but...

You forced down a steadying breath and shook yourself mentally. You couldn't do this, not yet. You would cry later. For now, you needed to find a way to escape. You thought you could simply get to your feet and stagger down the path to safety. But as you tried to lean forward, the cloth around your wrists tugged. Abbas had been clever. He tied you to one of the heavy wooden chests in the house.

Your eyes slipped closed but you didn’t dare try and use Eagle Vision again. You needed to conserve your energy. You would have to somehow lie your way to freedom. You needed to be sweet and charming, appealing to his gentler nature. You would do what was necessary to keep yourself alive long enough to reach freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be longer whether that's a good thing or a bad thing XD I'm not sure


	24. The Aerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly to the end ;3 Hang in there my lovelies

The heat against your cheek and the cold sliding across your lips jolted you from unconsciousness. Water lapped eagerly and you drank it down your dry and parched throat with greedy desperation. Your eyes fluttered open, widening when you realized it was Abbas coaxing you to drink. His stern gaze was locked on the clay cup, ensuring you drank the last of the water.

He set it aside before lifting a small loaf of bread.

“What happened?” You tried to speak calmly, words never reaching above a whisper. “You were gone a while…” Two days, you think, maybe a day and a half.

“Al Mualim is dead. Altaïr that traitor… killed him.” He tore off a piece of bread and pushed it against your lips.

You regretfully took it between your teeth, cautiously chewing upon it and you took in his expression. His words were truth, that much you could tell. And he was furious that Altaïr had succeeded.

“He has the Apple now. I tried to warn them, to take it…” His jaw clenched. “He’s going to lead us down a dark path but they can not see it.”

“The Apple…” You swallowed the dry bread painfully, your throat still too raw. “Al Mualim was using it to control people. It’s dangerous.”

“Altaïr is dangerous!” He furiously ripped off another piece of bread and shoved it into your mouth. “You will regain your strength here. It is safer for you here. I will take back Masyaf for us. Then you can return home with me.”

You chewed the bread quickly, trying to swallow what you could. “Abbas, listen to me, please.” You smiled sweetly, your words taking on a gentler and loving tone. “We don’t need Masyaf. I have… al-Rahman. We could go there together…” You made your expression softer, brows arching under affection as you tilted your head.

He leaned closer, mirroring your features with his own show of affection. He tried to speak gently but he was still too enraged. “Run away together? And simply leave Altaïr to destroy the Order?” He shook his head, eyes darting to the bread in his hands. “No, he must be stopped. The things he’s done…”

Your stomach knotted but you tucked your head beneath his chin, awkwardly since your hands were still tied. “We will stop him together. But first we’ll need better supplies and an army to take Masyaf. Al-Rahman has both.”

He took down a sharp breath. His eyes returned to you, his trembling hand sliding up your neck. “Yes… We’ll go there together.”

“The city is far away,” you reasoned tenderly. “We’ll need horses to get there. And supplies, of course.”

Abbas allowed his mouth to press against your cheek, nervous and uncertain, his beard scratching against your skin. “I’ll return to Masyaf and grab what I can for our journey. I’ll leave you here where it's safer.”

You muttered it when he got to his feet, “Abbas. I need to eat. I’m starving. Could you...” You shifted your weight until he could see the cloth tied around yours wrists. You smiled softly at him, not too pressingly because you didn’t want him to see you as dominant. You needed to look weak and frail or else he’d see through your plan.

Abbas kneeled down, hand sliding across your cheek. “The two of us, together, in al-Rahman.” His head tilted, lips parting as he leaned closer. “Once Altaïr is dead, there will be nothing to stop us.”

You closed the space, pulling a kiss from his lips as convincingly as you could manage. You tried to think of Altaïr, the scent that usually lingered on his lips, the taste of him… It seemed like an eternity since you’d last been with him that trying to remember took far more concentration than you liked.

Abbas tugged the dagger from his belt, his lips pulling away from yours. For a moment your heart jolted, fearful that he’d kill you but he cut the cloth from your wrist. “It may take me a few days to get everything we need.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You tilted your head against the wall. “After being in the prisons for so long I’m… too tired. I’ll have to wait here for you. I might need a cart… I don’t think I can ride a horse.”

“That will work fine. No one will come this way.” His gaze swept around the house as if he were trying to consider its layout. “You should be safe here. Altaïr already believes you are dead and won’t think to look for you.”

Your breath caught in the back of your throat. You forced a smile all the same, swallowing the rancid heat that hit the back of your throat. “Does he?”

He gave a grim nod as he rose to his feet. “I told him Al Mualim took your life weeks ago when you returned to Masyaf.”

Altaïr not only thought you were dead but he knew you had returned to see him. He would think it was all his fault, that he convinced you to walk into your own death, and worst of all your return proved that you wanted to be with him.

Your words wavered as you spoke them, a failed attempt to sound calm, “And Saif… my father… did he live?”

“No,” he stated, “He died trying to betray Al Mualim.”

You kept your eyes wide, fighting against the tears that tried to well. “Go quickly, Abbas. The sooner you return the sooner we can leave together.”

He glanced you over. And for the longest time you thought he saw through your facade. But he left the home without further delay, sliding the wooden door shut behind him. Your ears strained to hear the sounds of horse hooves drumming off into the distance. But you needed to be certain. You forced yourself to use Eagle Vision, your skull hammering as the ability bloomed out of the hovel and across the craggy landscape.

Your lips pulled back into a quivering frown, a cry of pain jolting from your throat as you let the vision fade away. Abbas was gone. But you only had a few days to make your way down the mountain side, through the valley, and to Masyaf’s gate without getting caught. After having eaten so little, you weren’t certain you could manage it.

You rolled your weight forward onto your knees. You grabbed a bit of the food, scarfed it down because you knew the hike down the mountain would expend the last of your energy. Your hands, gritted with sand and dirt, grasped the closest thing as you heaved your weight onto your quivering legs.

Each step to the door was painful, the bone in your legs feeling as if they might snap. But how could you give up so easily? Abbas would return, whether days or hours, and you didn’t want to be anywhere near him when he realized your words had been lies. You never thought he’d be so delusional or even vengeful. You didn’t think he’d try to kill you but you couldn’t be so certain anymore.

You fought against exhaustion and dizzying dehydration. You staggered down the dusty path, the soles of your feet scraping across the grit of dirt and the sharp edges of rocks. The sand was scorching, even hotter than the searing sun above. Worst of all, without your hood’s shadow to hold back the light, your eyes strained painfully to see anything past your own reach.

You were relentless. You were determined and with each step you were closer to the grassy valley just at the base of the hill. But your toe stubbed against a jagged rock, your knees buckling out from under you and your hands just barely catching you before hitting the ground. A whimper, a breathy sigh, brushed past your lips. You sat down on your haunches and wiped the sweat that drenched your brow. You didn’t have the energy to stand, not after having fallen.

A shadow passed overhead, sweeping across your form for the briefest of moments. You peered up at the dark blue sky, the harsh light of the sun blooming intensely. And a great hawk soared above you, carried gently by the arms of the wind which secured its wings on a tender pedestal. Silver glinted off of its dark silhouette just as its cry echoed out across the desert.

Your swollen eyes slipped closed just as your head fell forward. You couldn’t give up. You didn’t want to give up. But damn if you weren’t strong enough to continue. It would take time to return with the supplies, suggesting the cart proved as much but… You couldn’t sit there and wait until night. You couldn’t risk it. If Abbas returned ahead of schedule, not only would he know you lied, he would have greater reasons to never trust you.

If you hadn’t taken another glance down the path you would have missed it, the blurry white robes of an Assassin as he trotted his horse along the path further into the valley. He was leading his horse off of another branch of the path, moving right across your own and away from you.

You lurched forward, trying to throw your weight back up onto your feet. Hot bile bit the back of your throat, the rancid taste clawing its way into your mouth. You choked it out, spitting the last of it into the sand before using your hands to raise up off the ground. You couldn’t stand fully upright, heart hammering against your ribs and gasps sucked down into your lungs.

You shouted, desperate and incoherent. There weren’t any words. It was the rawest and most savage scream you could manage. A breath of air quivered out of your throat, a fading whimper.

He pulled tight on the reins, vision bobbing across the area until he saw you shuffle towards him. He leapt from the horse’s saddle and raced the distance to your side. There wasn’t a moment of fear or hesitation, only the purest of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Masyaf,” you whispered it, your throat barely able to croak out the words. “Please. I have to get to Masyaf.” You nearly fell to your knees again but your hands pressed against them, keeping yourself somewhat stable.

“Masyaf?” His arm slipped around your waist before hooking your hand to his neck, hoisting the majority of your weight against him. “What happened to you?”

“I need to get to Altaïr.” You groaned when he led the way forward, your body protesting against any sort of movement at all. “Altaïr Ibn-la'ahad. He could be in danger.”

“I know of Altaïr. What sort of danger could he be in that you’d risk your own life?” His steps were slow, patiently waiting for you to make the next shuffle forward. “Your own child’s life…”

“An Assassin.” Your drew in your bottom lip to keep from whimpering. “He kidnapped me.”

His attention jolted to you, his hood allowing you to see a small fraction of his concern.

“He did it to hurt Altaïr.” You couldn’t take another step. You just couldn’t. What little food you’d eaten was now lost to the sand. What little energy you had gained was spent stumbling down the mountainside.

“Who? Who would do this to their own brother?”

“You can’t tell him. You can’t tell anyone. If the man who took me... found out… You have to…” You were so tired and your thoughts were scattering so quickly it was hard to find the words. “I have to…”

And he knew this, staring at his steed before surveying the area around him. “The ride to Masyaf would be too much for you.” He shuffled towards a set of homes, buildings that appeared to have been abandoned some time ago. He eased you down on the steps just outside of the doorway. “I will go to Masyaf. I will return with someone who can help.”

“He thinks I’m dead.” You swallowed harshly when your throat tightened, tears burning in your eyes. “You have to tell Altaïr I’m still alive.”

He weakly nodded, eyeing you a moment longer just to make sure you wouldn’t die when he left. He rose to his feet and raced back towards his horse, barely leaping into the saddle before the creature took off down the road. The further he rode into the valley, the more you began to shiver.

If Abbas realized the truth, if he discovered your betrayal, he might return to the house searching for you. Or worse, he’d take innocent lives in a mindless fit of rage. And you couldn’t possibly let Altaïr know it was Abbas. He might kill the other man and that in turn might enrage the Order.

Horse hooves rattled the earth, you could hear them approaching. Masyaf was too far away for it to be the Assassin. You hoped it wasn’t Abbas but your heart swooned sickeningly in your chest. Your eyes were so watery and blurry, swollen from the searing light that poured into them.

You staggered to your feet and leaned against the house’s outer wall, following its base until you were tucked safely behind the building’s shadow. You slid down the wall and rolled over onto your side, pressing your feverish skin against the moist dirt. You rubbed your cheek into the slightly cold earth, breathing deep the bold scent.

Your eyes clenched shut. They still burned from the constant sun, heat and light having assaulted them for what could have been hours. Your body eased against the hard earth and mud brick wall, bones settling against muscle while your mind drifted off into sleep. You thought you heard the distant cries of a hawk somewhere, perhaps the same one passing overhead in search of a meager meal. Your breathing shuddered, muscles quivering as the icy chill of night sunk against you.

Warmth fluttered against your cheek, a strength that wrapped around your waist and pulled you away from the frigid ground. You tried to resist against it but your body was languid, rolling limply beneath the other’s control. A firm hand cupped the back of your head, holding your head up so that lips could brush your cheek.

It wasn’t until your gaze searched weakly that you could finally see what was happening. Although somewhat blurry, you recognized his features and the corner of your lips tugged into a weak smile. The word barely made it past your parted lips, “Altaïr.”

“You are safe now.” He placed another kiss onto your cheek and then your forehead, pressing it there as if he were afraid letting go would caused you to turn to dust. “You’re safe.”

“I tried,” you rasped, throat scratched by both sand and heat, hot tears spilling down your frosted cheek. It was so difficult to speak but you had to tell him. He needed to know. “I tried to do the right thing… I tried to not kill anymore. I just wanted to do what was right...”

“I know.” He pressed his palm against your cheek, smearing the sleek tears. “I know you did.”

Your eyes fluttered in hopes to clear away the blurriness, remembering suddenly that he thought you had died at the hands of Al Mualim. “I came back to Masyaf. I wanted to see you.”

“Hush now.” He pressed his forehead against yours, curling you into the heat of his body. “Just rest.” His fingers brushed back the strands of your hair, smoothed the cold sweat from your skin. He kissed you again, just to make sure that it wasn’t some passing dream.

“She won’t last much longer.” Another approached and through bleary eyes you could make out the familiar features of the doctor you’d helped long ago in al-Rahman. “We need to get her to Masyaf.”

He shifted his weight against you, gathering you up into his arms and pressing you firmly into his chest. He noticed then how truly weak you were, your head rolling back lifelessly to stare into the darkening hues of indigo. Stars dusted the heavens and in the absence of the moon, they shone brighter than you could ever recall them being.

Altaïr carried you up a small hill towards the road, hesitating when he reached the back of the cart. The doctor was the first to climb in, their combined strength being the only true thing to help you get into the back of the cart. The moment your spine eased into the hard wood was the first time in ages that you felt calm, that you might survive.

But you couldn’t ignore the pounding in your skull or the sweat that layered your skin. You clenched your eyes shut, letting the endless shivers ride across your form even after someone rolled the thick blanket over you.

You felt the weight of his hand slide across your swelling stomach. Altaïr leaned forward, the heat of his breath caressing your ear. “Who did this to you? Tell me their name and I will find them. I will make them suffer--”

You tried to open your eyes but they only just barely managed it. “You can’t. If you kill him…” Your gaze slid away from him, catching sight of both Malik and Kadar on their horses. They looked on at you in silent worry, Kadar looking even more concerned than his brother.

Altaïr’s unwavering glare kept your heart pounding. “Please,” he whispered it, a muttering plea. “Tell me their name.”

Malik and Kadar were waiting just as desperate to hear the name of the traitor. It wasn’t until your gaze looked past the three of them that you saw the white robes of another approaching from down the mountainside. They were some distance away but it was the same path you’d taken earlier during your escape.

Your breathing increased, fear suddenly strangling the name from your throat, “Abbas.”

Altaïr threw his gaze over his shoulder just as the robed stranger forced his horse into a hard gallop away from the cart. It had to be Abbas. He had to have returned to collect you when Altaïr and the others rushed out of Masyaf. He barked the order, nearly growled it, “Bring him to me.”

Malik and Kadar wasted no time. They were shouting at their horses, sending them into a heated frenzy after Abbas. The sounds of horse hooves rattling against the earth softened the further they grew.

“Altaïr,” you whispered.

He flicked his attention back to you, silently pleading that you were still alive and with him. He leaned forward, his hands embracing either side of your face as his thumbs smoothed the tension from your brows. “You are safe, hayete.”

You tried to nod your head, to keep your eyes on him but you were exhausted.

Altaïr quickly reached into his vestments and pulled from them a sea shell. He held it before you, waiting for your eyes to focus on it. “After you left, I went to your room. I found it there. I have kept it for you.” He gathered your hand into his and placed the shell into your palm.

You tried to smile but you weren’t entirely sure your lips were moving where you needed them. “You should keep it safe for me.”

He gave a firm nod, sweeping his eyes up to the driver. “Take us to Masyaf.”

“Of course, sir.” The cart jolted forward, the horses eager to move down the path towards the softer and gentler valley, to avoid the shouting and the upcoming battle.

You closed your eyes and sighed, tears streaming back into your hair. “I missed you.”

“Rest,” he replied just as softly. “We are nearly home.”

Your hand quaked but you weakly squeezed his hand and the shell. “I’m already there.”

Altaïr brushed his lips across your forehead, pressing them there before muttering, “As am I.”


	25. The Soaring Ones

**One Month Later**  
You stepped out of the hot bath, arm curled around the excessively large stomach as you reached for your towel. You asked the servants to prepare the bath just before the harsh chill of night settled through Masyaf’s halls. You tried to dry off as fast as possible, water cooling quicker than you could brush the towel across it.

You dressed absentmindedly, running your hand down across you oversized bulge while you crawled awkwardly into bed. You were exhausted, a good kind of exhausted that came with being productive and helpful. You spent most of the day assisting the village with the odd job and then later with training some of the newer recruits.

If Altaïr knew how busy you were, he’d have thrown a fit. He was in Damascus, however, handling a few matters for the Order. You hadn't asked him about the mission. You had been more eager to enjoy having him hold you than talk about work. But now that he was gone for the sixth day, you regretted not asking him the details.

You must have dozed off or fallen asleep, the sound of the bedroom door barely catching your attention. It wasn’t until the bed shifted and his heat curled into your back that you realized someone had entered the room. You knew it was Altaïr, his refreshing scent enveloping your senses. Although, the strong musk of sweat seemed to overpower the more delightful notes of mint.

You chuckled, feeling his hand caress soothingly across your stomach. “You smell awful, you know.”

He moaned sleepily, not budging at all.

“I have a bath already drawn…” You settled your hand on top of his, feeling the smoothness of his skin. “I could help wash you off.”

He pressed his growing smile into your neck, a breathy laugh fluttering across. But then he groaned and gave a sigh, pressing his eyes into your shoulder. “I have to leave for Jerusalem in the morning.”

“What?” The words jolted off your tongue before your mind registered them, “You just got back.”

“I know, heyete. I was supposed to leave Damascus and go straight to Jerusalem but…” He shifted against you, tried to curl himself tighter into your back. “I needed to see you. I missed you.”

You leaned backwards into the firmness of his chest, felt his heart hammering against your spine. It was rare to hear him speak so openly about his feelings, a hesitation that must have been instilled in him when he was younger. But over the past month, after nearly having lost you, he was determined to be more openly affectionate. His affection also came with equal amounts of protectiveness, a vigilance caused by Abbas.

“How long will you be in Jerusalem?”

His fingers on your stomach reached up and laced with yours, fiddling with them as he tried to make a reply. “I can not be certain… It's a five day ride there and back if I do not stop and rest.”

You tried not to sigh, to not let the sickness in your heart affect you outwardly. He was Mentor and with that title came various obligations. You couldn’t expect him to stay with you in Masyaf when the Order needed him elsewhere. But you missed him, longed for him. So when you asked it came out sounding more desperate than you planned, “Almost a month then.”

“You could come with me.”

You laughed, turning your body until you could see his expression. “You're the one who told me I had to stay here because it was better for me and the baby.”

“I changed my mind.” The corners of his features softened, revealing how much grief he was bearing. His hand gently moved down across your side, soothing the muscles in a tender massage. “I can not do this without you. I hate being without you.”

You pressed fingertips along his jaw, sweeping them across his cheek. “I hate it, too. I hate watching you leave and not knowing when or if you’ll return… I’m not used to just… sitting around.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes slid closed. “You will come, then?”

“Of course.” You grinned childishly before pinching his chin. “But first: you need a bath. You smell awful! Did you roll around in the mud while you were out there?”

His laugh was abrupt and he turned his head away, hiding the large smile. “Yes, yes. Fine.” He rolled away from you and got to his feet. “If…” He looked back over his shoulder. “You will join me.”

“I’ve already had my bath,” you teased. “Besides, I look like a whale as it is.”

Altaïr rounded the foot of the bed and wrapped his hands around your stomach. “You are beautiful, heyete. You will always be beautiful to me.”

You huffed, feeling the blush warm your skin. “Flirt…”

He gathered your hands all the same, leading you from the bed towards the tub. “I can be more than just words…”

~:~

“Altaïr.” You shook his shoulder, his brows pinching moments before his eyes fluttered open. “Altaïr, it’s time.”

“Time,” he groggily muttered, hardly even realizing he muttered it. “Time!” He sat up sharply, turning in bed to place quivering hands on your stomach. He looked you over as if he could somehow see some outward sign. “It is time?”

“Yes.” You laughed breathily. “And I need you to go wake the midwives and the doctor.” You sucked breath through your teeth as a contraction hardened painfully around your lower stomach.

Altaïr quickly grabbed hold of your face and pressed his lips to yours. “I will return shortly. I promise.” He jumped out of bed, barely removing the blankets from his legs as he raced across the bedroom. He threw open the door, wood clattering against the stone wall.

You pressed your back against the headboard, arms hugging yourself as the throbbing ache in your back swelled across your belly. Your eyes slid closed for only a moment before Altaïr was running through the door again. Your eyes widened, “Where are the midwives?”

He tenderly sat down onto the edge of the bed, careful as not to jostle you. “I woke Rauf. He has gone to fetch them.”

“You woke Rauf?” You laughed and threw your head back. “Of course you did.”

“I will not leave you.” He reached behind your back, moving the pillows so that they stacked comfortably behind you. “I can not leave you.”

You tilted your head, lips softening into a smile. “Altaïr. Nothing terrible is going to happen. The doctor himself said my pregnancy was going well.”

He swept his eyes down to your stomach, his palm careening across the firm surface. “You do not know that for certain.”

“You won’t lose me.” You placed your hand on his.

He didn’t seem convinced. He feared the worse and you couldn’t blame him. His mother had died giving birth to him. But you couldn’t speak to him further about it, a sharp contraction tightening through your abdomen. You gasped down a harsh breath, fingers digging into the bed.

Altaïr grew defensive, the need to fight an unseen enemy. “What should I do?”

“Water,” you hissed, knowing he’d have to find a servant or fetch the water himself. It would give the midwives enough time to arrive as well as keep Altaïr’s mind too busy to worry.

He marched out of the room and you could hear him shouting somewhere down the hall, “You! Bring a pitcher of water to my room immediately!”

Some poor youth managed to stammer, “Y-yes, Mentor.”

You hissed when he returned, shaking your head at him. “You could’ve asked nicely.”

Altaïr perched himself on the side of the bed just as the head midwife was walking through the door. He snapped at her, the tension in the room flaring, “What took you so long to get here? She is giving birth while you take your time.”

The other two midwives were at her heels, blankets and bowls of water in their hands. The head midwife ignored Altaïr altogether, obviously used to the scenario. She spoke sweetly to you as she leaned over the bed, “We’re going to move you to a sitting position.”

You gave a weak nod, trying to sit up but your stomach felt so twisted that you agonizingly groaned. Altaïr’s arm slipping behind your back was the only thing to truly support you. Malik was just stepping through the door when you got to your feet. He rushed forward to help guide you across the room towards a pillowed wooden chair.

Altaïr snarled at Rauf as he was entering the room, “You woke Malik?”

“Yes…” Rauf froze mid-step. “And Kadar… And Nizar. I thought you might want their help?”

Your legs shook beneath you, Altaïr and Malik the only things keeping you from melting to the floor. “Hurry,” you hissed, another hard twist of pain tightening across your waist.

Altaïr eased you down into the chair, ensuring a pillow was at your back. He turned on his heel towards Rauf. “Kadar and Nizar can wait outside.”

“And you as well,” the midwife ordered, although her voice was softer and sweeter than his. “We do not need added stress on the mother.”

Altaïr narrowed his eyes, jaw flexing as he bit down on his bitter retort.

Rauf scurried out of the room before anyone else could shout at him.

She stood her ground as the other midwives set to work on wiping clean the sweat that laced your skin and rolled your tunic up over your knees. But your back arched up off of the pillow as a throbbing ache coiled up your spine, a growl hissing through your teeth.

Altaïr jolted as if he had been the one to go into labor. “She is in pain!” He growled it, his body rigid as he towered over the petite midwife. “Do something for her! That is your job!”

Her lips pressed thin, eyes widening with cocky disregard. “Malik. Please escort the mentor out of the room.”

Altaïr leered over at the raised palms of Malik, daring him to try.

“Altaïr,” he cooed, “you must let the ladies do their job.”

You whimpered his name, reaching out and snatching up his hand.

He was abruptly at your side, kneeling beside the chair and sliding his fingers across your drenched brow. “I am here.” He whispered it, pleadingly regretful, “I am sorry, heyete. I am so sorry.”

Under different circumstances you’d have laughed and soothed his fears but your jaw clenched and your throat knotted. Fire, intense and searing, bloomed across your chest and down towards your knees. You strangled Altaïr’s hand as one of the midwives soothingly whispered, “Push, my lady, you’re almost there.”

You couldn’t swallow the next groan. Your mouth flew open, your screams ringing in your ears and through the halls of Masyaf. Altaïr’s hand gently curled around your neck, fingers slipping up through your hair. He whispered gently into your ear, praising you with every word that he could think of.

~:~

 **Another Month Passes**  
Snow dusted the earth with a mixture of soft tans and white. It layered thinly upon cypress trees and rooftops, the remainder of last night’s snow storm. Winter had officially rolled across Masyaf and brought with it a crisp freshness to the air that tingled your lungs and caressed your skin.

With the snow and winds came new challenges, training techniques that could only be practiced a certain time of year. Assassins needed to survive the sun just as easily as the cold. So at the first chance you got, you had them practicing on the slippery ice and slushing puddles.

The youngest of your pupils, bright eyed and eager, made her way to your side. She was the young girl from a year ago when de Sable laid siege to the castle and surrounding village. She was a bit older, a simple servant helping with minor chores and never having picked up a sword in her life. You didn’t want her fighting just yet. You wanted her to keep what innocence she could.

You gave another glance out over the training grounds before giving her your attention. “Does the village have enough fire wood?”

She gave a sweet nod, holding out the missive that was given to her. “The doctor said to give you this.”

You took the folded parchment and nodded your head a few times. You read the scribbled list of items, mostly herbs that the good doctor needed. “Take this list to Nizar. He will know what to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She gave a stern nod of her head, taking her task to heart. She grabbed the paper from you and raced between sparring rings and cluttered groups of gossiping Assassins.

“You there!” You sauntered towards the huddled group. “If you’ve the energy to gossip, you’ve the energy to train.”

His chuckle softened your annoyance, his shoulder leaning against yours. Altaïr turned his head to peer at you past the edge of his hood, a barely noticeable curl on the edge of his mouth. “Even Assassins require a small break once in awhile.”

You swept your eyes down to the bundle in his arms, the kicking feet and opened-mouth smile of the infant. “Tell your father I’m just doing my job.” You reached out and let the child’s small hand grasp weakly at your pinky finger.

He tilted his head down, playfully shoving your hand away. “Do not listen to her. Your mother does not have to work them so hard. She does not have to work herself so hard, either.”

Your mouth fell open with shock, surprised that he’d even suggest a thing. “Does that include you as well?”

He gave a hum of approval, eyes so soft and tender. “Yes, even I…”

He was a different Altaïr, far more gentle than when you had first met him. He still bore the lingering effects of Al Mualim’s betrayal and, of course, the childhood aftermath of being told not to love. But in the past few months he worked hard to transform the Order into a force of peace. He taught love where Al Mualim demanded obedience. He asked for trust where Al Mualim required rigorous sacrifice.

You slipped your arm behind his back, leaning wholeheartedly against his warmth. “We could use some time alone. Couldn’t we?”

“Oh?” He peered down at the cooing infant in his arms, missing the child already. “We will not take Darim with us?”

You reached out and slid a finger across the round cheek of the infant. “I happen to know quite a few people who have been begging me to let them babysit.”

He narrowed his gaze, lips pressed thin. “Nizar and Rauf?”

“Nizar. Rauf. Malik. Kadar.” You peered up at him, resting your chin onto his shoulder. You smirked at him, delighted when his russet eyes narrowed. “It’s a very long list of people…”

Altaïr gave a slight groan, not at all happy with the idea of leaving his son behind and especially with others. “It would be safer to leave him here… I suppose.” He gently pulled the thick blanket up around the infant’s head, keeping back the nippy air.

You rubbed your cheek against the warm cloth of his shirt, letting your eyes slip closed. “Nizar could take over training for me… It’d be more difficult finding someone take over as mentor…”

“Malik,” he stated as if he had been considering it for some time. “He and Kadar just returned from their mission in Cyprus. We would only be gone for a week.”

Your lips twitched as you tried to contain your laughter because he truly have been planning the short vacation. “So, Almighty Altaïr Ibn-la'ahad, where shall we go?”

His words sounded more solemn, his eyes looking out across the courtyard as he remembered another time. “I believe I promised someone a trip to the ocean once.”

You snorted. “I’ve already been to the ocean.”

He looked at you now, resting his full attention upon your features. His eyes roved downwards from your eyes to your mouth. “Yes but not with me.” His head tilted, lips brushing across your own, teasing you with soft caresses.

Someone cleared their throat and you leered over at them, finding that Malik was grinning rather cheekily.

Kadar reached out before even finishing his sentence, “Is it my turn to hold him yet? You told me hours ago I could.”

Altaïr’s brows pinched at the loss of Darim’s warmth, his arms frozen in place as if he hadn’t quite registered the child was gone. He snarled under his breath, “If you want one so badly, perhaps you should get your own.”

Malik brushed fingertips across the infant’s forehead. “He might just get that if things go well with him and this girl.”

“Shut up, Malik.” Kadar ducked his head away, a blush sparking along his cheeks.

“Girl?” You raised a brow, lips pulling up into a smile. “What girl?”

Malik playfully shoved his brother’s shoulder. “Her name is Maria… and she’s rather spirited. She might be too much for my brother to handle.”

“She is not.” Kadar marched around his brother, avoiding him completely. “Stop talking about it already.”

“Oh really? What’s that red on your cheek for?”

Altaïr snatched up your hand before you could listen to the rest of Malik’s teasing. He was leading you away from the training grounds, his fingers slipping between yours, carefully caressing the sensitive skin until a jitteriness entered your stomach.

Your eyes caught sight of the dark shadow, wings fluttering silently as the large eagle leapt from its roost and rode the winds with graceful practice. You sighed delightfully, enjoying the familiar sounds of Masyaf castle and the village markets in the distance. “Any ideas on where you’d like to run away to?”

“Perhaps further north.” He looked up towards the gray clouds that thickened heavily with a promise for snow. “Somewhere a bit warmer.”

“Anywhere,” you confessed, leaning your head against his arm and yours peering up at his growing smile.

He swept his gaze towards you, a soft and peaceful admiration. “I know just the place.”


End file.
